


Mountain Man

by AlwaysSpoopy



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief, Making Out, Mild sexual situations, Mutual Pining, Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 11:59:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25849186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysSpoopy/pseuds/AlwaysSpoopy
Summary: You never thought you’d love again. Then Arthur Morgan came into town. Fate continuously has you meeting each other in odd ways, and a troubled past is something you are both familiar with. Perhaps that’s what will make this time different.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan x Reader
Comments: 60
Kudos: 153





	1. Chapter 1

Smithfield’s Saloon was a bustling, loud mess when you entered, as was typical for a Friday evening in the small town of Valentine. The place was only a couple of years old, fully built from the timber milled in nearby Strawberry and lit by strategically placed oil lamps, giving it a sepia-toned glow that you could bask in all evening. Several tables were scattered about the sparsely-decorated room, a larger one covered in green cloth currently hosting a nightly low-stakes poker game. 

You made your way inside, taking off your light jacket since escaping the mild chill in the air and scanned the room, looking for your friends in the crowd. The piano man was playing one of the four songs in his repertoire, The Arkansas Traveller, as Quentin, the barber, swayed slightly in time to the music at his normal post in the back, beer in hand, and speaking to one of the saloon’s regular patrons. Jon, the old drunk, was sitting at his usual table, downing a bottle of whisky and ranting about something or other. After years of enduring his presence, you had finally been able to tune him out. Jedadiah, the bartender, nodded your way as your gaze wandered past him before serving Tommy, who seemed to already be well into his cups, another glass of whisky. 

Dozens of other familiar faces were scattered about the room as you scanned it, finally spotting the two women chatting with two unfamiliar men at the end of the bar. After a rather long week working across the street at Saints Hotel, cooking, running baths, cleaning, and washing a couple of particularly unruly patrons, your good friends Anastasia and Margaret had invited you over to their place of work for a few drinks - on the house. 

“Evening Anastasia, Margaret,” you call over the din of piano music, clinking glasses, and loud conversations. Anastasia was a freckled, firey redhead who was almost always getting into trouble. As was typical for an evening on the job, her white chemise was pushed down low on her chest, revealing her ample cleavage to entice more of the men into paying for a night with her. Margaret, on the other hand, was of a slimmer build and had lovely dark brown hair, pulled away from her doe-eyed face. She was always ready to flirt with anyone she sees and crack jokes on the regular, which definitely worked on many a man over the course of her career as a working girl. These women were two of the first friends you made when moving to Valentine with your soon-to-be husband almost a decade ago. They had been working at Keane’s back then, the older saloon down the street, but have since moved to the wealthier spot when it opened a few years ago.

They both look toward you and becon you over. “Hey hun, these handsome gentlemen are Javier and Charles. They’ve just come into town, isn’t that right?” Margaret explained, putting her hand on Charles’s bicep and giving it a flirty squeeze as she batted her lashes. 

You gave a small snort and glanced over at the men. The one introduced as Charles had long, dark hair, dark skin, and shining brown eyes. He was very obviously an outdoorsman, slightly bulky and built for spending time in nature, wearing a tattered light blue shirt cinched at the hips by a gun belt. He nodded at you, but said nothing and took a sip of his whisky, eyeing you over the rim of the glass. Javier, on the other hand, took your hand from across the corner of the bar and gave it a quick kiss. Also dark-haired, his was cut significantly shorter and tied in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, Javier was slightly leaner than his companion, and was dressed in finer clothes - a charmer, no doubt.

They were both very handsome men, indeed, but you recognized Margaret’s tactic from a mile away: butter up the new ones with enough complements, keep them well in their liquor, and they’ll be coming back to you every night for their entire stay. You raised a hand to the bartender, ordering a round of whisky for the group.

“Why thank you, _Mariposa,_ ” crooned Javier, picking up the drink and nodding at you over the rim of the cup.

You laughed. “No need to try that with me, I don’t work here,” you teased, raising your glass to him before taking a long drink of your whisky. Jedadiah has given you the higher-quality bottle this time - good. Javier let out a laugh and went back to speaking with Anastasia, leaving you to sip your drink in silence for the time being. The slight burning sensation warmed your throat and then worked its way down to your belly, easing away the stress of the previous week. There really was nothing like a good glass to take the edge off. 

As you finished your first drink, the door to the saloon suddenly swung open, drawing the attention of your companions. All four turned to face the new patron, the women leaning against the bar as the two men moved to greet their friend.

“Oh! Arthur!” called Charles, waving his hand towards the bar to summon him over.

“Arthur, come here, come here! Come over here! I want you to meet our friends.” Javier called and moved from the bar to smack his friend on the back. You turned as well, leaning your right side against the bar, drink still in hand, and taking in the handsome new patron.

He was average height, but bulkier than his friends - a powerhouse made of pure muscle. You were sure he could break you in half if you let him. His light brown hair was brushed haphazardly away from his face, which was slightly tanned from days spent in the sun. As you slowly dragged your eyes across his face you noticed two small scars on his chin, where his beard wouldn’t grow. His eyes, an alarming shade of teal, narrowed as he looked over your group, like something was missing.

“Pleased to meet ya,” he drawled, his voice deep and husky, likely from the combination of years on the road and smoking plenty of tobacco. His hands went to his hips, and he looped his fingers through his belt, looking around the room.

Anastasia seemed awestruck and was ready to dive in and cause plenty of trouble to get this man’s attention. The other two could wait for now. “Well ain’t you just the tough as teak mountain man?” she flirted, leaning against the counter and pushing out her chest so her bust was closer to eye-level. 

“Oh, you be quiet Anastasia,” Margaret chided, also wanting a bite of the newcomer. “Anyone can tell this one is a _pussy cat_.” There it was. Margaret had tried one of her usual godawful jokes that somehow seemed to land her a client every time, and you tried your best not to laugh. Instead, you raised your glass to your lips, only to find it empty.

“Exactly!” Javier cut in. You turned to Jeb and held up your empty glass, which he promptly came over to refill. “He’s a _pussy_ … cat. Ain’t that so, Arthur?” This time you did laugh, a very loud and uncomfortable snort that you couldn’t stop if you had tried. 

You drew your refilled glass quickly to your lips, trying your best to cover for yourself. The new man glanced your way shortly before turning back to the other two women. If anyone else had noticed, they didn’t say anything.

The new man, Arthur, stepped a little closer to the group, looking your friends up and down. “How much you cost anyway?”

Anastasia, for some reason seemed genuinely offended, shock immediately overtaking her face. “Well ain’t that a nice way to talk to a lady?” she snapped, though you weren’t sure why. She _was_ a prostitute after all.

Arthur leaned closer, an almost manic grin on his face. “Oh, I didn’t know I was talking to a lady…” he teased. You immediately knew what he was up to. He needed his friends alone, and didn’t have the decency to just ask. Luckily, two could play at his game.

Anastasia balked. Sure, she wasn’t a ‘lady’ like those rich women in New York or San Denis, but she deserved at least a modicum of respect. She scoffed angrily and walked off with a grumbled, “excuse me,” pushing her way past the man, before glancing back at you to see if you were coming. You nodded, you’d be with them in a second. There was no need to stay in the bar and drink, you had plenty of liquor back at home. But before you leave, you may as well get the last word with the man who had, surprisingly accurately, insulted your friends. 

“Oh, _it’s alright_ , Anastasia,” you called after her, staying in position at the corner of the bar. You pointedly looked Arthur up and down before speaking again. “ _This one_ couldn’t afford one of us anyway,” you tossed at him with a wink over the rim of your glass. Keeping your eyes locked on his, you slowly took a drink.

Like a predator preparing to pounce on its prey, he moved slowly toward you, sizing you up. “That so?” he drawled, slowly dragging his eyes from where your feet were crossed at the hem of your skirt, to your hips leaning against the side of the bar, to your chest, where he paused for just a moment.

“Oh, most definitely,” was your response, accompanied by a practiced smirk. You may not have been a working girl in the saloon, but your years offering deluxe baths at the hotel across the street had given you more than enough practice at charming men. Even ruggedly handsome men who were likely to make you weak in the knees like this one.

His eyes snapped back up to yours as you spoke, a matching smirk gracing his lips. “Why don’t we see about that?” he teased, reaching for what you presumed was money in his satchel. If you had thought his voice was husky before, it was nothing in comparison to how it sounded now. Sultry, _eager_. 

Before you could even begin to think of a response, you heard your name being called by Anastasia, who was standing impatiently at the door with Margaret at her side. “Are you coming?”

You felt the heat rise to your face as soon as the moment was over, but magically kept your composure. “Sorry, it turns out that my shift just ended,” you hummed, reaching up to straighten out his collar. Your fingers lightly brushed his skin and you swore he tensed and took in a sharp breath in that moment. Next, you gave him a light pat on the shoulder and started to walk away. You only had to remember not to look back. 

Hips swaying, you headed towards the door, stopping briefly to grab your jacket from the coat hook along the way. “See you around, gentlemen,” you called, swinging the door open and stepping out into the cool night air, feeling his eyes on you the entire time. Perfect.

Anastasia and Margaret followed you out in a huff, brushing past another stranger who was staggering up the steps and into the saloon.

The walk back to the local boarding house, where you had been staying with your son for the past few years, was luckily a short one. However, almost the entire 10 minutes were filled with complaints from the other two women about the “uncivilised” and “incredibly rude” man, effectively ruining any hopes you had of continuing a fun evening with your friends. 

“It’s such a surprise that he’s friends with those other two. They just seem so sweet, and he’s such a… such a brute!” ranted Anastasia, looking from Margaret to you for confirmation. “He’s got those ruggedly handsome looks, sure but, by god! How dare he talk to me like that! Can you even believe it?”

You wanted to laugh, but held it in. Your friend was already upset, there was no need to make it worse. Luckily, before you needed to say anything, Margaret cut in. “I know! What was he thinkin’? Even insinuatin’ you wasn’t a lady! You are the most ladylike woman in this town, Anastasia,” she rattled on, wrapping an arm around her friend’s shoulders.

You did the same out of solidarity and played with a strand of her red hair. The three of you walked further, arms around Anastasisa’s shoulders. “He just wanted to get his friends alone, you know,” you told her after a few minutes of her angry silence, before moving your hand and squeezing her shoulder comfortingly. “He only said those things because he knows you two already had his friends wrapped around your fingers and _they_ certainly weren’t about to leave,” you further elaborated with a wink to the redhead. Who knows if that was true, but it would most definitely make Anastasia feel better.

She sighed, her shoulders shrugging, and looked wistfully in the distance. “Yeah, I s’pose you’re right,” came her response. “We did have them on the hook pretty quick, didn’t we?”

“Oh, absolutely!” chimed in Margaret with excitement as you reached the large blue house on the outskirts of town. You glanced quickly to the second floor, and spotted your window. It was dark inside. “And it’ll be real easy to reel them in again tomorrow.”

The three of you burst into a fit of giggles as you reached the front porch. You dropped your arm from Anastasia’s shoulders and gave both women hug. “I think Ben is asleep, so I may turn in as well, if you two don’t mind.” The both nodded and hugged you back, saying quiet farewells and making their way further down the dirt road to their own homes. 

The door opened with a slight creek as you stepped inside the dark house. It was a rather large house for this area, meant to house several farmworkers at the time it was built. Since then, a hotel and several other larger homes have popped up closer to town, leaving this one nearly empty most of the time. You rented a decent sized room on the second floor, and had done so for nearly five years running. It wasn’t luxury accommodation by any means, but it was away from the hustle and bustle of town, and it was more than affordable on your meager salary. Not to mention, the landlady had been a good friend of your late mother-in-law, and had been happy to offer your family a place to stay at a decent price, in exchange for occasional work around the house. Quietly, stepping over the floorboard that you knew let out a loud squeak when moved, you shrugged off your jacket, listening for the sounds of small footsteps pattering about on the second floor. Nothing. 

What you did hear, however, were the sounds of a conversation coming from the kitchen. You walked down the dimly lit hallway to the room, where you found your landlady sitting at the table with a stranger. Your landlady, Ms. Becker, an older woman with a perpetually frustrated look on her face, sat in her nightgown, nursing a cup of hot coffee while the stranger looked over a piece of paper that had been laid in front of her on the table.

She was a pretty woman, about the same age as yourself, with dark brown hair neatly plaited down her back and clear, tanned skin, that almost glowed in the lamplight. Her clothes were obviously expensive and well cared for, and a pair of small, matching suitcases sat at her feet. Her nimble fingers with clean, neatly trimmed nails skimmed over the short paragraph on the paper. This was very obviously a woman who had never worked a day in her life. What on earth was she doing in Valentine, of all places?

“Thank you very much for the use of the spare room,” she said to the landlady, her voice boasted a light southern accent, like that of the debutantes in San Denis. “Your home is lovely, and little Ben is an absolute darling. I do so love staying in homes instead of hotels when I can and, of course, I am happy to help out where I can while I am here.” 

“Oh no, that’s not necessary dear,” she chided. “Your pay is more than enough. Please relax and enjoy your time here as much as you can. You don’t need any more stress on your shoulders.”

As Ms. Becker finished her sentence, the stranger seemed to notice your appearance in the doorway. “Oh!” she exclaimed, though keeping her voice down slightly. “You must be Ben’s mother! It’s wonderful to meet you. Your son and Ms. Becker greeted me this afternoon when I arrived, he’s a lovely little boy.” She stood up from her chair, skirts billowing around her ankles, and reached out to kiss both of your cheeks in what you had heard was a customary French greeting.

Although you were slightly taken aback by her forward attitude, the comment about your son brought a smile to your face. “Thank you very much. I like to think I’ve taught him well so far,” your responded, pulling slightly away from the new woman and introducing yourself. 

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she said, voice sweet and still low enough as to not wake your son, sleeping soundly upstairs. “I’m Mary Linton.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Worth’s General store was a large building at the end of the Main Street. Although obviously aging, Jacob Worth did his best to maintain the store as much as possible, and keep it as well stocked as he could for the citizens of Valentine. The store was small and dark, despite the bright day outside, but stocked to the brim with goods both local and exotic. 

You stepped over the familiar threshold, and were immediately greeted by the friendly voice of Jacob, “Good morning!” You greeted him with a nod and a smile, moving to the left so that the excited child behind you could dart inside. 

Ben immediately dashed to the small candy display near the register, bouncing up and down in excitement. His curls bounced with him while he looked at the selection with a grin that reminded you so much of his father. Small, dirty hands grabbed for a bar of chocolate and a bag of hard candies, holding them up to his face for closer examination.

“Are you looking for anything in particular today? We just got in some more of that coffee from Guarma that I know you’re fond of,” Jacob continued, standing behind the counter and keeping his eyes on your son. He indicated to a shelf behind him, with a sign bosting “Fresh Guarman Coffee! $1 per pound!”.

You smiled at him. “Thank you, Jacob, but we’re only here for picnic supplies today. I’ll come back later in the week to pick up more coffee and dry goods, if you could please hold some for me?” Jacob was a nice man, if a bit lonely of late. He had been very close to your husband, and made sure to take good care of you and Ben in recent years.

He nodded, grabbing one of the heavy bags off the shelf and putting it to the side behind the counter. “Of course, happy to,” he wrote your name on a slip of paper and put it on top of the bag. When he stood up, he brushed his fingers off on his apron, and then rose his hands to comb through his unkempt beard. “You going over to see Andrew today?”

With a bittersweet smile, you nodded in affirmation. “Yes, it’s been a while since we’ve gone over there. And since the weather is nice today, we thought we would have a picnic,” you explained, walking over to your son and ruffling his curly hair. “Isn’t that right, Ben?”

“Yep!” he exclaimed, still mostly focused on the candy in his hands. “And Mama said I could pick out a candy for today, right Mama?” He looked up at you, eyes wide with excitement, reminding you all the more of Andrew. 

You couldn’t hold back the loving smile that lit up your face when he looked at you. The five years since Ben had been born had been tough, no doubt, but seeing the boy grow up was worth more than the world. He was becoming more and more like his pa as he got older, earning you a small, bittersweet ache in your heart every time you noticed the similarity. 

Raising Ben together with Andrew on the little ranch outside of town had been your plan. The two of you had looked so forward to teaching him to care for animals, to giving him more siblings to play with, to raising him into the brilliant young man that he was indeed becoming. Unfortunately, fate had had other ideas. Only one of those wishes was coming to fruition, and you were forced to watch him grow up alone. 

You had grown up in a small town on the eastern edge of New Austin, helping your parents in the saloon and restaurant they had owned, and sadly knew next to nothing about ranching. Andrew, on the other hand, was born on a small ranch just outside of town, and had practically been taking care of animals since he could walk. Sadly, Andrew had passed only a few months after Ben was born, and never got a chance to teach him anything or give him any siblings. 

Ben’s determined decision brought you out of your bittersweet reverie. “I think I want chocolate today,” he said, before placing the small bag of hard candies back on the counter. “I like when it gets all melty when it’s hot. Then I can just lick it off the package and I don’t even gotta chew.” His rambling made both you and Jacob chuckle.

You went back to browsing the shelves, picking up a few apples and peaches, and asking Jacob for loaf of bread, dried beef, and some cheese. As a special treat for you and your son later, you picked up some assorted biscuits as well. The last things on your list were a small bottle of wine for yourself and a bottle of milk for Ben… who was now hiding something behind his back.

He had a shameful smile on his face, and was rocking back and forth from his heels to his tippy-toes. Behind him was an obviously empty space on the shelf where peppermint candies usually sat. He could have only been more obvious if he were whistling. The boy really was a horrible thief.

“Ben, sweetheart, put that down please,” you lightly scolded, getting ready to bring out your stern mother voice if need be. “You’ve got a chocolate bar for later, you don’t need more candy.”

Then again, there is no reasoning with a child. “But Papa’s favorite is peppermints. I wanna get some candy for him,” he says, eyes going wide and shining with definitely-fake tears. He brought the red and white striped package out from behind his back and showed it to you, eyes as wide and innocent as a puppy.

“Honey…” you rubbed the bridge of your nose as you spoke, and closed your eyes, torn between holding your ground and giving into the puppy-dog eyes.

“Please mama?” There it was, the lip tremble. This kid had you wrapped around his tiny little finger. “Please? They’re his favorite. I’ll leave the chocolate if I gotta.” And the cincher. He had to have known what he was doing, offering to put back his own treat to get peppermints for someone who couldn’t even enjoy them? He was a literal angel.

An angel you could simply not say no to.

“Oh, alright, you. Those puppy dog eyes are merciless, you know?” you concede, not hearing the door open behind you and the heavy footsteps coming your way.

The boy jumped in excitement, his curly hair bouncing with him, and ran up to the register to show his purchase to Jacob. You follow suit, pulling a few bills out from under the blanket in the basket and handing it to your friend across the counter.

“Peppermints AND chocolate?” came a husky voice from behind you. “You really  _ must _ be worth more than I could afford.” You recognised the sound almost immediately, and turned to face the man from the night before. He was again standing casually, observing the scene before him with his fingers looped in his belt, and smiling softly at your son.

Seeing him again so soon made you smile. Last night may have been short, and may have amounted to nothing in the end, but flirting with him had certainly been fun. “Well, hello again Mountain Man,” you responded, teasing him with the nickname Anastasia had unintentionally bestowed on him the previous evening and making no pretense of hiding the fact that you were running your gaze up his body. Although he was wearing the same clothes as the evening before, and was significantly dirtier than you remembered him being before you left, he looked even more handsome in the light of day. “That’s  _ certainly  _ true, but maybe we can negotiate the price over a drink sometime?”

His soft smile that had been reserved for your son turned into an impressed smirk as his gaze drifted to you. “‘d be happy to,” he responded. 

You glanced down at your son, who was still pre-occupied with the peppermints, and decided to forgo any further suggestive talk while he was with you. Which, unfortunately, meant that you weren’t entirely sure what to say next. “Well,” you managed, clearing your throat and turning to pick up the full picnic basket from the counter. “I certainly didn’t think I’d see you in the general store. Don’t you mountain men hunt all of your own food?”

Arthur barked out a laugh, throwing his head back with it. You were surprised about how attractive it was. “Shoa, if I weren’t such a bad shot, maybe,” he retorted, looking back at you. “‘m headin’ out for a bounty. Just need t’ stock up on some supplies before I leave.”

“Bounty?” That certainly surprised you. Though, now that you’ve had a better look at him, you supposed that he  _ could _ be a bounty hunter. He did have multiple pistols in holsters at his hips and a couple of repeaters strapped to his back. Not to mention the fact that he could probably wrestle anyone to the ground with his bare hands alone.

“Yeah, some snake-oil salesman been pawning off poison to women with sick husbands,” he explained nonchalantly, pulling his hands from his belt and walking in your direction.

“Ah…” you drew in a sharp breath as he came closer to you, backing you up until you were nearly touching the shelves against the wall. Your heart was pounding in your ears, what was he playing at? He kept his eyes on yours the whole time, the same predatory look in them that you noticed last night, and you would have panicked if it weren’t for the mirth in them as well. Somehow, you could tell he wouldn’t hurt you. This was just a part of the game. 

Without a word, and keeping his eyes locked with yours, he reached behind you and pulled a box of shotgun shells off the shelf.

When he had what he wanted, that stupid attractive smirk returned to his face and he stepped back, giving you room to breathe. “S’posed to be camped out by Cumberland Falls. Shouldn’t take long, if ya’d want to join me for that drink afterwards,” he explained, finally breaking his gaze from you and heading to the other side of the room to the display housing basic tonics.

Now that he wasn’t so close, now that he wasn’t looking at you like he wanted to eat you alive, you could finally let out the breath that you had apparently been holding. “I… I’m a bit busy today, I’m afraid,” you managed, holding up the basket full of picnic foods for him to see. Your heart was pounding, and it was certainly not from fear. You only hoped he wasn’t able to tell.

Completely oblivious to the situation before him, Ben strolled over to you from the cash register, where he had been chattering on to Jacob. “Yeah, we are going to see Papa!” he told Arthur excitedly. “We even got him candies!”

Your eyes snapped to your son at the sound of his voice, only to see him standing beside you with an opened bag of peppermints, one already in his mouth. Faking offense, you bent down to your son’s height and took the peppermint bag from him. “You said those were for papa, you little thief,” you teased, slipping the bag into your basket before reaching out to Ben’s sides.

The boy knew what was coming, and was preemptively laughing and trying to escape you. “He doesn’t mind sharing!” he giggled, backing away from you with a grin.

You narrowed your eyes playfully at the child. “Oh, sure he doesn’t,” you taunted before going in for the kill, “you sneak!” With that, you drew Ben toward you and began attacking him with tickles. Ben’s shrieks of laughter filled the room as the two men watched on with smiles on their faces.

“Mama, no!” shrieked Ben through his laughter. “No tickling! No tickling! Let’s go see Papa!” His laughter died down as you stopped tickling him and released him from your hold. He was breathless and grinning from ear to ear, eyes shining with glee. You simply adored him.

“Alright alright, let’s go, my little thief,” you said, giving him a purposefully loud, wet kiss on his cheek, which he proceeded to wipe off dramatically. He then dashed to the door, careful to keep out of arms’ reach, lest you try to catch him again. You followed him with a smile, stopping briefly at the door to say goodbye.

“Anyway, it was nice seeing you again, Mountain Man,” you said, turning to Arthur with a small wave of your left hand, the light glinting off your worn wedding ring.

He cleared his throat and tipped his hat as you turned back around to follow Ben. “Ma’am,” was his simple farewell, and if you had glanced back, you would have seen his eyes, focused on the ring on your finger in disappointment.

The cemetery, much like everything else in the small town, was just down the street from the general store. Ben ran slightly ahead of you, still within eyesight, the bag of peppermints held tightly in his tiny hand. You waved and said hello to the few people that you passed as you walked the short street, but all-in-all it took no time to get to where you needed to go.

Andrew was buried next to his parents, and you knew the space like the back of your hand. The grave was starting to age, but was generally well kept by both the town minister and yourself. It was situated toward the back of the cemetery, under a tree and away from the road - an ironically beautiful spot for a picnic. Andrew would have loved it. 

Just an hour after leaving the general store, you sat atop your picnic blanket, a worn blue and white quilt sewn by yourself and your late mother-in-law during the early days of your marriage, under the shade of the large tree with a book in hand. The half-eaten loaf of bread, leftover cheese, and beef were packed neatly back into the picnic basket, leaving you and Ben plenty of space to lounge.

Peppermints had been scattered over the blanket and beside the grave itself, as Ben played with a wooden horse on top of the weathered stone. He spoke quietly, voice still full of excitement, to his father’s and grandparents’ graves as he played. The book you were holding, a cheap romance novel that you had borrowed from Margaret a few weeks prior, didn’t manage to hold your interest, and you were lost in thought.

About Andrew. About the past. About what could have been. 

Andrew had been beyond excited for your pregnancy, even going as far as building a small nursery onto the small house once he had inherited it from his parents. It had been a hard time for him, torn between the sadness of losing his parents to cholera not a year prior and the excitement of bringing a child into the world with the woman he loved. Thankfully, the entire town had been there to support him: his friends stopped by whenever they could, the Downes next door helped out on the ranch when they got a chance, Ms. Becker had even taken to stopping by on a weekly basis to help you during the pregnancy.

It had all gone surprisingly smoothly, and a little over a year after his grandparents’ passing, little Ben was safely brought into the world. The first few months were an exhausted dream, taking care of a child, your child, together. Waking up at dawn to feed Ben and make coffee for Andrew before he went out to take care of the animals. Days spent feeding and playing with your son, working as much as you could, and waiting for Andrew to take a break so you could coo over the little one together. Nights spent cuddled together, looking adoringly at the face of the perfect child that the two of you had brought into this world.

It was so wonderful, and so tragically short-lived, that you sometimes weren’t sure if it hadn’t all been a dream.

But then you remember Ben, so much like his father in so many ways, and the bittersweet memory of that time solidifies in your mind. It was no dream. It was short-lived, exhausting, and too perfect to last. Andrew was gone, but he still lived on in your son, and you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

An excited squeal from the boy brought you back to the present, and you turned to watch him race his wooden horse across the headstones decorated with your family’s names. Not far away, Arthur was also alerted by the sudden shrill noise. Watching the two of you, as he stood by his horse and covered with grime, sweat, and dirt, he smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

The smell of soap filled the air on the porch of the boarding house, the same as it did every other Thursday. Work didn’t start until the late afternoon, so you took the extra time in the morning to do some chores around the boarding house. It wasn’t the most entertaining of times, but it netted you a good ten dollars off of your monthly rent, and you recently had been able to convince Ben to work on his reading as you washed.

This week, there was notably more to wash, with an additional border at the house. Mary seemed nice enough, if a little arrogant, and had offered to pay you an additional five dollars to wash her laundry alongside yours. Given that it looked like she hadn’t worked with her hands a day in her life, and not expecting much to wash after the woman’s short stay, you’d agreed.

However, you were surprised to note that, over the course of less than one week, Mary had managed to need five chemises, three skirts, and four blouses washed. At first, you had balked at the large pile of laundry, who goes through so much in one week? Seemingly having missed your surprised face, Mary had thanked you before heading back inside, mentioning something about coffee and a book.

Honestly, you would have been furious with her if you hadn’t taken the time to look at the clothes. The majority of them were mostly clean, the shirts slightly scented with sweat, and the skirts and chemises had a light ring of dirt on the hem. All of these clothes could have easily been worn weeks or even months longer before they even needed to be considered for washing. This left you more amused than it did irritated - if she wanted to pay you to essentially dip her clothes in soapy water while you were doing the rest of the wash anyway, you would certainly take the extra money.

You hummed quietly, lightly scrubbing the dirt from the hem of one of her skirts, as Ben practiced reading to you from an “Otis Miller” storybook that he had been slowly working his way through. He would slowly sound out each word, as you had taught him, and occasionally ask for help with larger, unfamiliar words. 

He had read through an entire 5 pages by the time Mary had come outside to join you. She held two steaming cups of coffee in her hands and her book under her arm, as she sat in the worn rocking chair. She placed one cup at her side and held the other out for you. “I’ve made it fresh, I thought you might like some,” she mentioned with a smile. “And to thank you for helping me out with my laundry.”

You smiled back and stood, wiping your wet hands on your skit. Was it still considered being helpful if you were only doing it because she paid you? You supposed it didn’t really matter. “I’m glad to help out, Mary,” you reached for the cup, holding it and enjoying the warmth on your hands, “thank you for the coffee.” There was a small stool next to where Ben sat, which you took, ruffling his hair and giving him a kiss on the top of his head as you sat next to him. 

Having seen you take a break from work, Ben looked up from his book. “Mama, can I go play?” He had been hard at work for about an hour - he deserved a break.

You nodded, and he immediately darted out towards the long grass in the yard, where a cat was sleeping lazily in the sun. Upon hearing Bens footsteps, the poor animal stood up and dashed to his left. The cat was fast, but your son was determined - he dashed after her. You laughed lightly and sipped your coffee, keeping an eye on the boy. “Have you been enjoying your stay so far?” you asked, not exactly comfortable with the silence.

Mary was also watching Ben with a small smile on her face. “As much as possible. It’s a…” she paused, evidently searching for the right word, “ _charming_ little town, and I do wish I were here under better circumstances.” The diplomatic answer. Valentine was a dirty, smelly old town and everyone who lived there knew it. The nickname “Mudtown” had stuck for a reason. 

“I’m sorry if this is too forward of me, but if you don’t mind me asking,” you started, fiddling with the warm coffee cup in your hands and turning your gaze to her. The steam from your cup was rising in the cool morning air, and the warmth seeped into your chilled fingers nicely. “What brings you to Valentine? Most of the time we only get tradesmen and livestock around here. It’s not usually the kind of place for a high-society lady like yourself.”

Mary seemed only slightly taken aback by your question. She must have been asked the same thing nearly every day since her arrival - everyone knew this was not a town for tourists. If she wanted to have a taste of the outdoors, she was much better off in Strawberry, which you had heard was recently marketing itself as a mountain resort. “Oh! Well, I suppose you’ll find out eventually, but I would appreciate it if you don’t spread the word around,” she looked off into the distance as she spoke, as if she was too embarrassed to look into your eyes.

“Of course.”

She sighed before continuing, her breath blowing the steam from her coffee away from her. “My brother, little Jamie, he’s run off and,” she paused and she chewed lightly on her bottom lip, “and joined the Chelonians. I’ve heard he’s been seen around here and was hoping to convince him to come home.”

“The Chelonians?” you had recognised the name from the papers, but had never really paid attention to the group. Supposedly they were camped nearby, in the mountains, but you didn’t know much else. They had never bothered to come into town that you know of, and most people rarely had time or interest in venturing so far away, so no one you knew had actually seen them in person.

“Oh yes, it’s some ridiculous new religion of some sort that worships turtles in the mountains, from what I understand,” she explained, waving a hand in front of her face to emphasize how indifferent she felt about the group. “I have to say, it’s all terribly confusing and I don’t see why he was so taken with it.”

“Oh, I… I’m very sorry,” you responded, more out of politeness than anything. If he ran away, why was Mary sent to get him, of all people? What about the rest of the family? Mary seemed determined, but you hadn’t actually seen her do anything to look for her brother. Was there no one better suited for the job? “Did he say anything to you before he left? About why he was joining?”

She sighed and stood from the rocking chair to pace over to the porch railing, leaving the chair rocking lightly in her wake. She leaned on the rail and gazed further into the horizon. “Oh, he blames my father for it, of course,” she explained in exasperation, again waving her hand in front of her as if to brush away the very notion. “The man can be overbearing, yes, but I know he only wants what’s best for us. I just hope Jamie will see that soon.”

“I’m... sure he will,” you honestly didn’t know what else to say in the situation. Mary looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, so was Jamie not also an adult? Was he not allowed to make his own decisions? To live his own life? If that was the case, you honestly wouldn’t blame him for running away. 

Before you could let the silence become awkward, Mary continued, “If not, well, I’ve seen some old acquaintances around town. My childhood love, before Barry, used to run with a rather rough crowd of outlaws and... degenerates, so I suppose I may be able to ask them for help if it comes to it.” Seemingly eager to change the subject, she turned to face you, leaning against the porch railing and holding her coffee in both hands. “In the meantime, may I ask you something as well? If it’s not too personal?”

You paused before answering and glanced at Ben. He was still chasing the poor cat around the yard. “Sure, I suppose. If it’s not too personal…” You leaned against the wall, took the last sip of coffee in your cup and looked at her, awaiting her question.

Mary had also glanced back to Ben before continuing, leaning slightly in your direction. “Your husband? Ben's father, I mean. If I can ask, where is he?” she asked, quietly, in case Ben should not hear.

That was a surprising relief. Yes, you missed Andrew, and yes it still hurt to think about losing him, but you never would hide what happened or how much you had loved him. “Oh. He…he passed shortly after Ben was born. It was a bad flu that took a turn for the worse all of a sudden. We got some medicine, thought he was getting better and then… and then he was gone. Overnight,” you revealed, unable to look in her eyes as you spoke. The pity that always overcame people when you spoke about Andrew was sometimes too much to bear. You swallowed and took a deep breath, burying the lump that inevitably formed in your throat each time you had to retell the story.

Mary quickly moved from the railing and sat back in her chair, reaching for your hand. “Oh my, I am so sorry! That must have been awful,” she replied. You allowed her to grasp your free hand, still refusing to look into her eyes. 

You had heard the same rehearsed response hundreds of times - from friends, family, neighbors. Everyone had been curious at first, after his passing. People you had barely known came by, more out of curiosity than care, and had quickly offered you their well-wishes before digging for the gossip. They almost always left feeling disappointed and guilty. This type of death, suddenly from a common illness, was not uncommon in this area, and left very little to be gossiped about.

You cleared your throat and turned your focus toward Ben, wanting something to distract you from the conversation that you had had so many times before. “It was. It still is, actually, but... I think you get used to carrying it with you after a while,” you explained, a bittersweet smile gracing your features. Outside in the yard, Ben had finally caught the cat and had wrestled it into his lap. Sensing the futility of trying to escape, it had given in and was now purring as he stroked its fur and whispered to it. “But… he gave me almost five amazing years, and he gave me Ben, and I… I honestly couldn’t ask for more.”

If you had looked, you would have seen Mary sporting the same bittersweet, longing smile that you wore. “Ben is a wonderful boy, I’m sure your husband would be proud,” she responded, her voice quieter and sadder than most peoples’ usually are at this point in the conversation.

“Thank you, I think so too.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, both of your coffee cups emptied, and the bubbles from the washbasin having slowly receded into the grimy water. The birds chirped in the crisp spring air and a few clouds drifted by overhead. A light breeze came in from the West, making your skirts sway lightly as you sat on the porch. It was nice, peaceful.

After a few minutes of contented silence, Mary spoke, “My husband also passed away a few years ago. Pneumonia,” she explained, her voice barely above a whisper. “Even before that I lost my first love, but in a very different way. And now I may have gone and lost Jamie too. It’s… it’s never easy, and I wish no one had to suffer like that.”

“No one deserves to,” you agreed solemnly, surprised by your companion’s revelation. It was strange to have something in common with Mary Linton, but you wouldn’t complain. It was nice to have someone who understood.

Once again, silence overtook the two of you, as you sat on the porch and lost yourselves in memories. The peaceful morning bled slowly into the early afternoon, the birdsongs fading away, the sun shining high in the sky. Ben had long since lost track of the cat and was laying on his back in the grass, making pictures out of clouds. After a while, Mary opened up her book and began to read silently, rocking back and forth in the chair, and you returned to the laundry. 

Only a few hours later, you stood in clean clothes in the back of Saint’s Hotel, getting a necessary breath of fresh air and listening closely for any new customers. In the last hour, you had already cleaned the upstairs rooms, readying any empty ones for new patrons. Unfortunately, this task also included cleaning the room of Mr. Presley in 2A, which the other women refused to touch unless specifically told to do so. After a thorough scrubbing and airing out, you had managed to get most of the stink from the room for the time being, but you dreaded the day he left. Room 2A may never again be suited for a new patron once the poor man moves out.

You stood, taking in deep breaths of the fresh country air, until you heard the front door of the hotel open and close. A few words were exchanged between your boss and a new patron, before your name was called. “Please fill a hot bath! Our customer will be in his room until it’s ready.”

With a sigh, you heaved yourself off the stack of logs you had been leaning against and went to fetch a pail of water from the well. The water was ice cold from the mountain runoff, and would surely take some time to heat, so you went ahead and started the coals in the bath room as soon as you were back inside.

After a half an hour of trudging back and forth with pails of water - one of your least favorite parts of the job - you called to your boss to tell him the bath was ready. A pair of freshly laundered towels and a bar of soap on a chair in the room finished the job, and you headed outside to take a quick break. 

As was custom, you were to listen for the patron to enter the bath room, wait about 5 minutes for them to undress, and then knock on the door and offer your services. 

Valentine, being a livestock and trade town, rarely had families or women passing through for baths, so rest assured you were usually invited by the lonely men in without hesitation. By and large, the men were respectful, if a little flirtatious, and never tried anything uncouth. Of course, occasionally men would come in drunk, or were just plain bastards sober, and that would lead you to deny your devices and call for your boss to toss them out. Thankfully, your boss never batted an eye when you brought him in to sort things out - possibly out of respect for his long-standing employees, but more likely because there was no other hotel in town and he already had their money. Regardless, you were grateful that he looked after you, even if his motivations may have been somewhat questionable.

You heard the bath room door squeak as it shut and began your countdown, digging out any dirt from under your nails just in case you were needed. After about five minutes had passed, you squared your shoulders and knocked lightly on the door. “Need any help in there?”

Immediately, the response came, and the voice was unexpectedly familiar. “Shoa, why not?”

You tried your best to hide the surprised smile on your face, and pushed the door slowly open. The room was dimmed, curtains closed and lit by only a few candles, and smelled strongly of soap and lavender. Even through the dim light and the fog from the hot bathwater, you recognized the handsome face of the man who sat, naked, in the tub before you. “Well hello again, Mountain Man,” you said with a smirk, rolling up your sleeves.

At first, he seemed shocked, but quickly let out one of those loud barks of a laugh as he had done at your previous meetings. “Ha! I just can’t seem to shake you, can I?”

With a friendly smile, you moved to sit on the stool next to the tub. “Seems so,” you responded, reaching into the soapy water to wet your hands. A slight nervous lump formed in your throat as you looked him over. Each time you saw him, he’d somehow become more and more handsome. Granted, the first time, you were exhausted and were in a dimly lit saloon, the second time he was covered in mud, and now… now he was stark naked and dripping wet in a bathtub, directly in front of you. 

Your perception may have been slightly biased. 

Arthur cleared his throat, making you jump. Had you been staring? “Didn’t know you worked here,” he teased, looking you directly in the eye. He really had to stop doing that. “May have to stop by more often.” He tore his eyes away from yours and then drew them obviously up and down your body as he spoke, stopping momentarily on your cleavage, which was peeking out through the top of your blouse.

A blush crept to your face, and you were immediately thankful that the room was not well-lit. He could stop by every day for free if he kept looking at you like that. Of course, you couldn’t say that out loud, your boss would kill you. Instead, you chuckled and said, “Please do, I can use the extra cash.”

Not missing a beat, Arthur responded with a smirk, “Thought you was expensive?”

Cute. You let out a small chuckle and reached for the bar of soap at the edge of the tub. “Too expensive, I suppose. Or _maybe_ I’m just too choosy,” you managed with a wink, before turning him away from you so you could wash the top of his head. Finally, those eyes weren’t on you and you could actually think again.

He groaned lightly as you massaged soap into his hair. “So that’s why you've been runnin’ off on me?”

That earned him an earnest laugh. “Running off? Oh, please! You’re easily one of the better men that’s come through this town in a long time,” you told him, lightly smacking the top of his head before moving down to his shoulders. His muscular, broad, tanned, perfect shoulders. “Especially that Tommy…” you continued, having heard about his fight with the man after you had left the bar the other night.

“I guess you heard about that?” he chucked awkwardly, tilting his head back slightly to look up at you. 

Another laugh. He was obviously not from a small town, otherwise he would know exactly how fast gossip can travel. Not to mention that Tommy was completely black and blue, and ranting about some drunken bastard the next time you had seen him in town. “‘Course I heard! Maybe 100 people live in this town and half of them were in the Saloon the other night,” you chided, still massaging his shoulders. “You can’t keep a secret for long around here, Mountain Man.”

He laughed again, that barking laugh that started in his belly and made him throw his head back with a smile. You liked it. “Obviously,” he grinned up at you for a second before turning away. “Though, if I’m one of the best ‘round here, I’d hate to see the other bastards that pass through.”

You narrowed your eyes, confused. Was that a joke? Sure, he seemed a bit rough around the edges, but no more than the other men who usually passed through here. And you wouldn’t even begin to start on how much more attractive he was than the rest of them.

Regardless, you decided to try your best to change the subject, it seems to have been a bit of a sore spot for some reason. “It’s not all that many, to be honest,” you told him, moving to wash his left arm. The muscles lightly twitched under your touch, and you couldn’t help relishing the feel of his skin under your fingers. “Occasionally we get some groups of men from out in New Austin or near Strawberry looking for work, I guess that’s where you’re coming from?”

He cleared his throat. “Shoa,” he confirmed, still looking away from you. “We was workin’ at a factory ‘n it was shut down. Lookin’ for something new now. Didn’t wanna come this far east, but there ain’t many options anymore.”

You nodded in understanding. Plenty of factories up north had recently shut down, or replaced their workers with newfangled machines. “I hear that Cornwall Tar is hiring,” you mentioned, only half joking. Cornwall was a notoriously awful boss, who underpaid and overworked his employees as much as possible, but a job was a job. “If you’re willing to work for below average and ungodly hours.”

Another loud, barking laugh. You were growing rather fond of it. “Low pay and high hours I can handle,” he responded, finally turning his head to look at you again, “just not for Cornwall.”

“Got a history?” you joked, not at all expecting a serious answer. Everyone knew about Cornwall’s awful business. No one actually _wanted_ to work for him, even without a history.

“Somethin’ like that,” came Arthur’s mumbled response, surprising you. So he actually did know Cornwall? Maybe the man had owned the factory Arthur used to work at? “In the meantime we’re gettin by with the occasional bounty and whatever other labor we can find.”

“We? You and your two friends from the saloon, right?” you asked, dipping your hands in the water to gather more suds. Just a few inches closer and you would be able to feel his chest. Somehow, you managed to resist the urge, and proceeded to wash his calf, which honestly may have been just as nice.

“Yeah, there are a few more of us around too,” he explained, shifting position in the tub and causing the water to splash about slightly. He leaned his head against the back rim and groaned as you massaged his aching muscles. “They’re my… co-workers.Though really they’re almost family at this point.”

“You didn’t part ways when the factory shut down?” It was an innocent enough question. You’ve had groups of laid-off workers come through before, though usually by the time they had hit Valentine the group was at about a quarter its original size. People found other jobs along the way. People got sick. People just left. That’s how it went.

“Nah, we’ve been workin together too long to give up on each other now. Loyalty’s always been important to us. Course, we lost a few along the way, but that’s the way it is I s’pose,” he continued. It was _interesting_ to say the least. You had seen about twenty or so new faces in the past week, all coming from the direction of Emerald Ranch. If that were his group, that would be a surprising amount of people who’ve stayed together. 

Suddenly, something Mary had mentioned that morning came back to you: she had seen some acquaintances of her ex-love around town. It couldn’t possibly be the same group of people, that would mean that Arthur rode with a bad crowd, as she had described. You glanced him up and down again. He had his head leaned back, eyes closed, and hair dripping on the wooden floor below. At that moment he looked serene, peaceful. Definitely not the kind of man who ran with a gang of outlaws and degenerates, as she had described.

After a few more moments of silence, Arthur opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, contemplative. “‘n what keeps a woman like you in Valentine? Seems like somewhere else might have more to offer,” he finally asked.

You chuckled, having been asking the same question yourself since Andrew had died. “Oh most definitely,” was your response. “But this is where my husband grew up and where my son was born. I’ve been here long enough that Ben and I know everyone in town and, well, it’s been hard to leave. Been thinkin about it for a while, but I can’t bear to part with it. As dirty and backwards as this place may be.”

This seemed to peak his interest. He sat up straighter in the tub and brought his leg back in to soak. “Your husband, right. That the boah’s pa?” he asked, looking at you and lifting his other arm out of the water - your cue to move to the other side of the tub.

You feigned offense at his question, but didn’t blame him. It’s not like Andrew was around to introduce himself. “Of course! What kind of woman do you take me for, Mountain Man?” you teased, flicking a few droplets of the cooling water into his face.

As a reflex, one of his large hands came up to shield his face from your attack. “Hey!” he shouted through a laugh. “Now, that’s not what I meant! I just seen you at the cemetery after your boah said you was going to visit his pa. Didn’t want to assume.” His laughter had died down by the end of the sentence as he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.

You looked at your feet, having dragged the stool to the other side of the bath and sat down. Under normal circumstances, you would let the conversation die there. No need to continue, no need for explanations. But, for some reason, with Arthur, a man who is essentially a stranger, you wanted to let him know. _“_ Oh. Well, yeah, that was his pa,” you began, reaching into the water and gathering some of the remaining suds to begin washing his other arm. “He passed a few years ago. He got pretty sick for a week or so, and then right when we thought he was getting better he was just… gone. All of a sudden. It…” you took a breath to steady yourself before you continued. “It was right after Ben was born, actually. Poor kid doesn’t even remember him.”

Arthur cleared his throat and looked away from you. “I’m real sorry. Shouldn’ve brought it up.”

You wish he hadn’t. You wish he could have just stayed flirty and playful. You wish he hadn’t unintentionally brought your mood down. It wasn’t his fault, but you still wished it hadn’t happened. “It’s fine,” you told him, quietly. “You didn’t know.”

You didn’t know how to continue. There was no way you could think of to cut through the awkward silence that followed. So, you finished up his bath with practiced efficiency, no longer taking the time to inwardly fawn over his muscled arms and calves. It only took a few more minutes until you had finished up - a lot sooner than you would have preferred under other circumstances. “Well, that should do it then,” you said quietly, clearing your throat and wiping your wet hands on your skirt. “You’re squeaky clean, Mountain Man.”

He coughed out a short, “Thanks,” as you stood to leave the room. 

As soon as the door creaked shut, you practically ran out the back door, desperately in need of fresh air. You heaved yourself up to sit on top of the small stack of logs at the back of the house, wishing you had a drink as tears formed in the corners of your eyes. It was strange, really, talking about Andrew with him. You had talked with people about your late husband hundreds of times, and it always made you sad, but this time was different. It made you feel so _overwhelmed_ and, somehow, _raw_. Talking to Arthur, a man you hardly knew, about your husband, confirming that Andrew was gone, it seemed wrong and you couldn’t pinpoint why. 

Maybe you were just tired? Maybe it was because, between Arthur and Mary, you had talked about him more today than usual? _Maybe_ you could see yourself beginning to move on, and you felt guilty?

After a good amount of time had passed, when you were certain Arthur had left the bath and gone up to his room, you re-entered the hotel and made your way back into the bath room to clean up. Even after nearly a half an hour, the scent of soap and lavender hung thick in the air. You quickly opened the curtains and the windows to air out the humid room and let in the afternoon sunlight. 

As soon as the light filtered in the room, highlighting the wisps of steam still hanging about, you noticed a folded piece of paper sitting on the stool by the tub. Gingerly, you picked it up and ran your fingers over the handwritten letters on the front. Your name. Upon unfolding it, ten dollars fell to the floor, and you saw a drawing of a small daisy in the upper right hand corner of the paper.

Below the daisy was a note, beginning with your name.

_I’m real sorry about bringing up your husband. I know losing someone you love never really goes away, and I can see that talking about him hurt. Can’t really make up for that, but I hope a nice dinner from the saloon today for you and the boy will help out just a little._

_Thank you for the best cleaning I’ve had in years. I hope we can really meet for a drink sometime._

_Yours, Arthur_


	4. Chapter 4

Valentine was, first and foremost, a run-down, muddy livestock town. It constantly smelled at least slightly of manure, and rest assured that every person’s shoes were caked in mud and shit by the end of each day. There were very few children or families in town, and thus little entertainment for anyone who was too young to drink or play poker. Gossip ran through the town as fast as whisky in the saloon, which is coincidentally where you had heard about the upcoming auction.

At the large Livestock Auction on the outskirts of town, a small troupe of men were to be riding in, followed by nearly two-dozen sturdy-looking horses. Luckily for you, Ben loved animals - especially horses. He really did take after his father in that aspect. So, there was naturally no better entertainment for the five-year-old than taking him to watch the small herd ride into town.

The two of you sat on a bench outside the back of the train station, close enough to see the action, but far enough away to stay safe in case any of the poor animals were suddenly spooked. Ben was dressed warmly in the crisp morning air, huddled up in a sweater as he sat on the bench, swinging his short legs back and forth in excitement. He held the last half of his chocolate bar tight in his fist, watching in awe as the horses were separated into groups and led into the corrals. Occasionally, he would smack your arm in excitement and point at a specific horse, admiring their coat or gait or hooves or anything else he found interesting.

After nearly an hour of watching from a distance, the horses were all herded into their pens, and Ben looked up at you with wide, excited eyes. “Mama, can I go to the fence now?” he asked, practically bouncing from his place on the bench. “Please?”

You gently pried the chocolate bar from his hand, and nodded. “Go ahead,” you agreed, “but watch out when you cross the road.” The end of your sentence was called to the back of the child, who had immediately dashed to the fence of the Livestock Auction.

With a small smile, you stood and slowly followed him over. You had been so focused on your son that you didn’t notice the familiar face of the man riding towards you until he had called your name. “Well, I shoa didn’t take you for a rancher,” came Arthur’s voice from your left. There was no way you could hide your smile.

He had been tying his own horse to the hitching post by the train station when he called out to you. He gave the horse a gentle pat and whispered something to it before walking towards you and Ben, who was far too distracted by seeing the horses  _ up close _ to take notice of him. You let out a laugh as he made his way to you. “Hello again, Mountain Man,” you greeted, putting your hand on Ben’s back as he climbed up the first rung of the fence. “I  _ certainly _ ain’t, but I figure Ben may be when he’s older.” You patted Ben’s back affectionately has you spoke about him. He didn’t notice. “Thank you for dinner, by the way.”

Arthur reached up with a large hand to tip his tattered hat in your direction, which also made it slightly cover his eyes. “It weren’t no problem, miss. Really,” he explained, now standing behind Ben with you at his side. The awkward energy that had overwhelmed the end of your conversation the day before was now completely gone. It was amazing what a good night’s sleep could do. 

Ben suddenly called to you loudly, bouncing up and down on the fence, “Mama, there’s a baby horsy! Do you see?” He held up his right arm and pointed enthusiastically at a small pony towards the back of the lot. It had stubby legs and a long, black coat, contrasting significantly with its nearby cousins.

You reached forward and shushed him gently, not wanting him to spook the nearby animals. “Yes sweetheart, I can see it,” you confirmed, keeping your hand behind his back in case he lost balance and fell backwards in his excitement. “Regardless, it was very kind. Thank you.”

Luckily for Arthur, your eyes were still trained on your son, so you missed his small smile and light blush. “You’re welcome,” he responded, before he cleared his throat and took off his hat, holding it at his side. 

The three of you watched the horses together for a moment as they kicked up mud in front of you, both of you glancing down occasionally at Ben with small smiles on your faces. You had to admit, it was nice, standing there with him by your side. Any passerby who didn’t know you would have reasonably thought the three of you a family.

Ben continued to ramble on enthusiastically, “How old do you think it is?” He finally tore his eyes away from the small pony and looked around the lot at the other horses. “Which one is it’s mama?”

He looked around for another pony, raising one foot up to the next rung of the fence, for a better view. As he searched, Arthur moved to his side and bent down slightly, so that his head was at the same level as Ben’s. “Which baby horse you talkin’ ‘bout?” he asked, looking in the same direction as your son.

Ben, thrilled to have a companion with the same interest, removed his hand from the railing and grabbed ahold of Arthur’s shirt. He nearly lost his balance, but Arthur’s strong arm swung up just in time, keeping the boy upright as he once again pointed toward the pony. There, that little one in the back.” After regaining his balance, and using Arthur’s shoulder as leverage, Ben clambered up to the second rung with both feet.

Arthur grinned when he saw the little horse. “Well that one there’s a Shetland Pony,” he explained, keeping his arm around your son’s back to help him maintain his balance. You couldn’t help thinking that Arthur looked good like this. With an arm wrapped around your son, teaching him about the animals in front of him, he looked like a father. “They’re bred to be real little, and they stay that way their whole lives.”

Ben’s eyes went wide. “Wow! So it’ll be a baby forever?” he asked, looking to Arthur for confirmation.

There was that barking laugh again from the man, the one that was accompanied by a wide grin, the one that made him throw his head back, the one you were now hoping to hear on almost a daily basis. “Not a baby,” he responded, patting Ben’s back affectionately, “but yeah. It’ll stay little forever.” He nodded toward the horse, and Ben turned his attention once again to the creature. “‘Cause they’re so small, they’re used in the mines, usually. I bet this one is on its way to Annesburg or maybe somewhere up in the Grizzlies.” With his free hand, he gestured at the horse. “See its thick coat? That means it’s real easy for ‘im to stay nice and warm up in the snow.”

The boy stared at the pony in awe, mouth slightly agape. “How come you know so much about horses?”

Arthur chuckled at his wonderment and reached over to put his worn hat on Ben’s head. It sunk low and covered the boy’s eyes, forcing him to reach up and tilt it backwards - but he didn’t remove it. “Was always fond of ‘em, I guess,” Arthur responded, reaching to the satchel at his side with his newly free hand. “They’re good, strong beasts, and real loyal if you treat ‘em right.” As he spoke, he pulled a worn, leatherbound book out of the bag and began to flip through the pages. You caught glimpses of long, handwritten texts, plenty of doodles, and several large, intricate drawings. That was certainly surprising. “Here,” he continued, holding out the book to Ben when he had found the page he was looking for. “I found a real pretty, snow-white Arabian up in Ambarino a while back. Wish I had one of them cameras so I coulda’ taken a real picture for ya.”

You looked down at the page, where a large, intricate image of a snow-white horse was drawn in pencil. Somehow, you managed to hold back the gasp that threatened to escape. He drew that? It was one thing to defy the stereotype of a rough-and-tumble mountain man by having a journal, but he took it to a whole different level with his sheer talent. You glanced up at him as he proudly showed Ben the image.

“Wow!” Ben gasped, turning from the fence to run the fingers of his right hand over the page. “It’s so pretty!” You reached over and helped him down before he fell, and he immediately moved to stand between Arthur and the opened journal.

Immediately, Arthur moved to squat behind him, his head again level with Ben’s as the boy took hold of the journal. “She shoa was,” he said into the boy’s ear. “Almost missed ‘er ‘cause she blended right in with the snow.”

After a minute of entranced study of the drawing, Ben turned his face toward Arthur’s. “You drew her real good!”

He laughed again and stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. If you didn’t know better, you would have sworn his cheeks looked slightly redder than they had been a moment ago. “Thanks, boah. But it ain’t much,” he replied. His self-doubt once again bubbling up.

“No, he’s right,” you chimed in. Your eyes met his as you smiled at him and nodded toward the book. “It’s really a beautiful drawing.”

He paused for a moment before taking the book gently from Ben’s hands and reaching for the edge of the page. “Thanks,” he responded, and began to gently tear the page from the book. Your hand immediately rose to stop him, there was no need to tear it out. But before you could reach him, he already had the paper in hand and was handing it over to your son. “Here ya go. You can keep it.”

For the hundredth time in a single day, Ben’s eyes went wide. “Really?” he asked in awe, eyes again going wide as he gazed up at Arthur. This was surely going to be the highlight of his week.

Arthur nodded, chuckling. “Shoa,” he agreed, closing the book and slipping it back into the satchel at his side. “Can always draw another if I want.”

Ben’s face immediately lit up as soon the drawing was in his hands. “Woah! Thanks, Mister Mountain Man!” exclaimed Ben, who immediately dropped to the ground next to the fence to analyse the paper in more detail.

Arthur responded with a chuckled, “‘Course,” and ruffled Ben’s curls. For some reason, looking at the adorable scene brought back that familiar lump in your throat. Was this what it would have been like if Andrew were here to watch his son grow? Was this what it looked like to have a child with a father?

Seeing Ben this happy was more satisfying than anything in the world. Seeing Arthur smiling down at your son, fingers again looped in his gun belt, also brought out a strange fondness that you didn’t think you would ever feel again. And then, inevitably, the memory of Andrew floats back into your mind, flavoring the entire situation with a strange sort of bittersweetness. 

“He’s a good kid,” Arthur’s contented voice brought you slowly back to reality. His gaze had moved from your son, still sitting on the ground, carefully holding the paper to prevent wrinkles, to your own. A small, bittersweet smile was aimed in your direction, and in that moment you knew - he  _ understood _ . 

You nodded, not having the willpower to take your eyes from Arthurs. “He certainly is,” you said, affectionately. “Thank you, really.”

The self-doubt that ate at Arthur every day reddened his face. “It weren’t nothin,” he finally looked away from you and plucked his hat from Ben’s head and slipped it back on his own, shading his eyes from your view. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“No, no,” you weren’t having any of that. Not today, when he had made your son happier than you had seen in ages. “You probably just made his entire  _ week _ . That’s not  _ nothin’ _ ,” you continued, stepping closer to him and teasingly pushing his shoulder a bit.

He chuckled. “Well…”

But you weren’t about to let him continue, especially if he was only going to degrade himself. “How about I thank you by finally getting you that drink tonight? No price negotiations necessary,” you cut in, reaching up to straighten out his collar like you had done at the saloon on his first night in town. Again, your fingers brushed his bare skin at the collar of his shirt. This time, you were certain you felt him tense.

After a second of looking down at you, so close to him, feeling the brush of your fingers on his skin, he smiled and nodded. “Shoa. That’d be nice.” You grinned back up at him and dropped your hand from his shirt, missing the feeling of it as soon as you did. 

Arthur left shortly after your conversation, confirming that he would meet you at the saloon later that evening. You stayed for a while longer, sitting in the grass on the side of the road with Ben as he moved his gaze back and forth between the real horses, and the picture he had gotten from Arthur. After a half an hour or so, when all of the horses were penned and the sun was high in the sky, you finally stood, ruffled Ben’s hair and told him it was time to go home for the day. 

Slowly, the two of you made your way back home, taking the road through the center of town. On the way, you heard the familiar call of the newsboy, and looked over. Immediately, the headline and image on the front page caught your eye.

“SNAKE OIL MURDERER CAPTURED” was written in large bold font above an article and a photograph of a man, whose face you recognised. You quickly walked over and purchased a paper, opening it to read the entire page with Ben by your side. 

Looking again at the photograph, angry heat swelled in your chest. There was no mistaking those eyes. You had nearly forgotten them, but now they would be burned into your mind for the rest of your days. 

The memories flooded back to you like a dam had been broken in your mind. Andrew’s hacking coughs. His pale face, burning with fever. Worry about Ben. Worry about the Harvest.    
Resigning yourselves to wait the illness out and skimp on food during Winter. Hearing about a travelling doctor in town. Picking up the medication. Hope. 

And then? Finding Andrew’s lifeless body in bed next to you in the morning.

There was no denying it. It was too much of a coincidence to not have been true.

Benedict Albright, the Snake Oil Murderer, had killed your husband.


	5. Chapter 5

You had headed home with Ben as quickly as possible after your discovery, ignoring all of your neighbors who tried to chat along the way. You walked with determination, caking your shoes and the hem of your skirt with mud and trying your best not to let any tears fall before you got home. Ben scampered along behind you, confused about what had made you so mad, but still not saying a word. 

As soon as you had arrived at the door of the boarding house, you kicked off your muddy shoes and kneeled to hug your son, the tears that had been threatening to spill during your entire trek home finally running down your cheeks. You quietly cried, holding the small child tightly in your arms and cradling the back of his head with your hand. His small arms wrapped around you as well. He may not have known what was happening, but he knew enough to hug you back.

After a few minutes, you finally pulled away and moved your hands to Ben’s face, looking lovingly at your son. “Are you okay, Mama?” he asked, timidly, still overwhelmed by the sudden change in mood earlier.

You nodded and then pressed your forehead against his, closing your eyes. “I’m fine, sweetheart,” you told him. “I’m sorry if I scared you.” Your hands moved from his face to the curls on top of his head, as you moved to a kiss to his forehead.

Pulling away, you were relieved when he proceeded to reassure you. “I wasn’t scared, Mama,” he explained, looking up into your eyes. His own were watery as well. “I was just worried. Why are you so sad? Did I do something bad?”

This prompted you to pull him once again in a tight hug. “Oh no,” you said in his ear, comforting both of you at the same time. It nearly killed you that he could ever think that he was the cause of your sadness and frustration at that moment. “No, no, no, no. You didn’t do  _ anything _ wrong, you wonderful, wonderful boy.” With another kiss to the top of his head, you pulled away from him to look him over. “You are so good, and I am  _ so _ proud of you, and I love you so, so much. And I’m very very sorry about upsetting you.” You straightened his shirt and stood up to make your way into the house.

As you did this, Ben moved forward to hug your legs. “I love you, Mama,” he said, his voice muted by the fabric of your skirt.

You patted him gently on his curls, a small, sad smile on your face. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

The two of you stood that way for a couple more minutes in the hallway, your hand running through Ben’s curls as he held onto your legs as if for dear life. After finally re-gaining your composure, you knelt down and helped Ben take off his shoes, before opening the door and sending him up the stairs to change into clean clothes for dinner, which was luckily a much happier affair. 

Ms. Becker and Mary joined the two of you for a meal of leftover stew from the previous evening and freshly-baked bread, courtesy of Jacob. Although you remained mostly in silent contemplation throughout the meal, Ben was more than happy to regale them with tales from the day. He spoke animatedly about all of the horses he saw, especially the “baby pony”, and of the Mountain Man who could draw “as good as a real picture!”

At one point, he had even run upstairs to grab the drawing and show it proudly to the entire table. Ms. Becker quickly oohed and ahhed over it, asking Ben questions about who this Mountain Man might be, all while looking knowingly in your direction. Mary, however, had suddenly gone silent, looking at the drawing with a sort of bittersweet recognition. Ben, of course, was not going to be satisfied with that reaction. When he turned to her to ask her opinion, her smile slipped back onto her face and she rejoined the conversation with practiced ease.

Not long after the stew had been eaten and the plates cleared off the table, the sun began to set. Bidding the others a good evening, you took Ben up to tuck him into bed before you left to meet Arthur. With a kiss on the forehead, you told him that Mary and Ms. Becker would be home, but you would join your friends for a few hours tonight, so he shouldn’t worry about you. He nodded, and after an exhausting, exciting, and overwhelming day, quickly fell asleep with the drawing tucked close to his chest.

You smiled and gently pulled the picture from his grasp to set it on the table near the window so that it wouldn’t be ruined as Ben slept. You then quietly slipped out of the house, luckily undeterred, and quickly made your way to the saloon. There was again a chill in the night air, as was common in Valentine in the spring, and you pulled your jacket tightly around your shoulders, contemplating what you would say to Arthur when you arrived.

If you remembered correctly, he had mentioned that he was going out to bring in a snake-oil salesman for a bounty the other day. It had to have been the same man. Should you mention it to him? Should you thank him? Would that be too strange? After all, he didn’t do this for you, he did it for the money. Before you had a chance to mull it over any further, you had reached the steps of the large, loud building. 

Through the windows, you could see many of the same faces that graced the saloon on a nightly basis. You immediately spotted Margaret, in her bright yellow top and purple skirt, talking up a man by the bar. Anastasia was nowhere in sight, probably already upstairs with a lucky client. You continued scanning the room a bit more through the windows, but you didn’t see Arthur yet. 

With a sigh, you decided to wait outside until he arrived, wanting to avoid talking to anyone as much as possible. You leaned against a pillar at the front of the building, watching as your breath crystallised in the air in front of you. As luck would have it, Arthur appeared shortly after you, dismounting his horse with a friendly wave. You were staring at the sky, so lost in thought that you nearly missed his arrival.

He called your name, and half-jogged to you once his horse was hitched, beaming. However, upon seeing the troubled look on your face, he immediately faltered.

“Before you say anything, I just…” you started, avoiding his gaze and not allowing him to speak first. “I want to thank you,” you finished, letting out a breath that you didn’t quite know you had been holding. Once again tugging at your jacket, you somehow managed to look Arthur in the eyes, tears threatening to spill again.

He immediately looked confused. “Woah, thank me? What for?” he questioned, coming over and stood next to you, leaning his hip on the same pillar. He was positioned slightly behind you as he pulled a cigarette out of his satchel and lit it. He took a drag of the cigarette first before holding it out for you. “Like I said, that picture weren’t nothin.”

You rarely smoked, but nodded your head anyway. Anything to calm you down. “It’s not that,” you replied, before pausing and inhaling the cigarette smoke. The somewhat familiar taste of tobacco entered your lungs and you handed it back to him, closing your eyes. It was all too much. “You… That man, your bounty? His name was Mr. Albright?”

Arthur nodded, eying you with confusion. He put the cigarette back between his lips.

It took a significant amount of effort to gather your wits together and explain everything to him. “He’s been here before,” you spoke slowly, testing out each phrase, making sure you were saying everything right. Closing your eyes and leaning your head back against the pillar, you continued, “About… about five years ago… Right before Andrew died…”

You didn’t need to say more. Contrary to his looks, and the rough-and-tumble attitude he usually tried to maintain, it was evident that Arthur was an empathetic person. He immediately understood. “Oh…” he pulled the half-used cigarette from between his lips and dropped it to the ground. WIthout another word, he had pushed himself off the pillar and turned to you, pulling you into a tight hug.

His strong arms wrapped around you. The smell of tobacco, trees and whisky overwhelmed your senses and you leaned into him, letting tears fall with less restraint than you had with your son. “We… we thought it was just the flu,” you managed, speaking through sobs into his shirt. “But it was harvest… and we had just had Ben... and he couldn’t afford to… to lay in bed for a week.”

You felt him nod reassuringly, and you continued, “So, this man came into town, boasting about this miracle cure... We weren’t sure, but there was just too much to do.” 

One of his strong hands started rubbing your back in circles, and you thought you heard him let out a quiet shush. “It’s alright,” he said, his voice low and calm, as if he were talking to a panicked animal. “You don’t gotta talk about it if you don’t want. I understand.”

“He would have been fine within a  _ week _ . I…” you finally managed to stop yourself, wrapping your arms around his neck with an exhausted sob.

Arthur shushed you again, his hand still rubbing your back. “You ain’t done nothin’ wrong,” he said, his voice still low and soothing. He pried you off of him and held you out at arms length, hands on your shoulders, looking into your eyes. “That man was a slippery, lyin’ sonovabitch,” he continued, trying to reassure you. “And now he’s finally gonna get what’s comin.”

You nodded and moved your gaze to the ground, unable to look Arthur in the eye. “Thank you,” you breathed, your voice trembling, almost a whisper. “I… I just… well, I came to terms with Andrew’s death a long time ago. But this… it just brings it all back somehow. Like it happened again.”

Suddenly, a large calloused hand gently took hold of your chin. Arthur lightly tilted your head back up to face him. “I know,” he said, training his eyes on yours again. “I  _ know _ . And I’m real sorry. Losin’ someone you love… well, it never really goes away.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” you muttered with a sad smile, wiping the tears from your eyes. 

After you had recollected yourself, Arthur finally spoke again. “If it’ll help, I can probably arrange with the sheriff for you to-“

“No!” You were immediately taken aback. Why on earth would you ever want to see that man? If he were to be hanged at the Valentine gallows, you would probably not even venture out of the house that day, just to avoid seeing those beady eyes. “Thank you,” you said quickly, once you remembered that Arthur was just trying to help, “but no,  _ no _ , I don’t want that. It’s over. Hell, it’s been over for years now. He will get what he deserves and that’s it. I don’t want anything more to do with it.” Were you trying to convince Arthur or yourself?

He eyed you cautiously, curious about your reaction. “You shoa? Now, I ain’t sayin’ you should go in there and kill him or anythin’. But maybe seeing him, yellin’ at him a bit, would help?” he asked again, reaching over to wipe a missed tear from your cheek. His hand paused for just a moment, and even after he had pulled it away you could still feel his touch, lingering. 

“I just…” you mumbled, swallowing down the lump that was working its way up your throat again. “I don’t know,” you breathed, dejectedly. Maybe he was right. Maybe you  _ had _ mostly healed, but that wound had been ripped violently open again by this revelation. Maybe screaming at him, showing him how much he had hurt you, would help you heal again.

He resigned, letting you decide for yourself. “Well, you know I ain’t gonna force you to donothin’,” he reassured you, leaning down to pick up the still lit cigarette from the ground.

You watched him take a drag without hesitation as you contemplated what he said. “I know… and thank you. It's just…” you bit your lip, searching for what you wanted to say, “it’s  _ hurting _ again. Like when it had just happened… I thought I was fine, that I’d moved on and was living my life…”

Arthur let out a small sigh and reached out with gentle fingers to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “And you are,” he didn’t remove his hand, instead he used it to cup your cheek and look at you in the eyes. You couldn’t place what you were feeling at that moment. It was strange. This man, who you had only met a few weeks ago, was making you feel safe. And heard. And  _ valid _ . And it made you feel so  _ incredibly _ guilty to feel this way with someone other than Andrew. “You’ve got a good life, a great boah, and there ain’t no need to feel bad about that. But you just found out that some greedy snake took what could have been away from you. I wouldn’t blame you for wantin’ to rip him a new one before he gets his justice.”

You paused for a moment, looking back into his eyes. It took effort to even breathe, but the feeling of his hand on your cheek was somehow comforting. Slowly, you nodded your head and whispered, “Alright. … Let’s go see him.”

“Alright,” he said back to you with a reassuring smile. His calloused thumb brushed your cheek again lightly. “I can talk to the sheriff in the mornin-“ You pulled away from him in a sudden burst of determination. No, not in the morning. It was now or never. You had no idea if you could will yourself to do this any other time. “-hey, what... you mean  _ now _ ?”

You looked back, and Arthur was standing in the same place, cigarette dangling from his lips, and his arms stretched to the sides as if saying,  _ what on earth? “ _ Of course! I’ve got the stomach for it now, you expect me to wait?” You called back to him, voice only slightly shaking.

He looked at you in shock before jogging to catch up with you. Mud squished under his boots as he ran, but he made it to you quickly. He put a hand on your shoulder to stop you for a moment, “Well, I-“

This time, it was your turn to reach up and caress his cheek. Which you did, before patting it lightly, embracing your newfound confidence. “Sheriff Malloy has known me for years. It’ll be fine.”

He paused for just a second, smiling and shaking his head in resignation, before tossing his cigarette on the muddy ground and stomping it out with his boot. After a moment, he gestured to the jail with his right arm and put his left behind you, his hand resting on the small of your back as he began to lead you to the small building. “Well alright then, let’s go.”

The Sheriff’s office, only a few more steps down the street, was nearly empty when you arrived. Looking through the window, you could see Sheriff Malloy sitting at his desk, writing by the light of the singular lit oil lamp in the room. On the left were two darkened jail cells: one completely empty, and the other housing a man, who was huddled in a dark corner, asleep.

Arthur knocked lightly before opening the door without an answer. Sheriff Malloy jumped to his feet, shoving the letter he had been writing quickly into a desk drawer. It was likely a letter to the lovely Mrs. Calthrope, with whom he was having a not-so-secret affair. 

But that didn’t bother you at the moment, as your focus was immediately drawn to the man hunched over in the furthest jail cell. You heard Arthur explain the situation to Sheriff Malloy, who kindly left you to your business. With each step closer to the cell, you could feel your heart beating faster and your words threatening to catch in your throat. By the time you had reached him and grabbed ahold of two of the bars, you couldn’t speak.

Luckily, Arthur was right behind you to take charge. He banged on the metal bars with a metal coffee cup that he had picked up off the Sheriff’s desk, waking the cell’s resident with a jolt. “Mr. Albright!” he called, his voice deep and taunting. “I brought someone by to see you.” He held a hand comfortingly at your back as you looked at the man.

He was an older man, dressed in what were once, surely, fine clothes. His glasses, perched on his long nose, were cracked, and his beard and hair looked as if it hadn’t been washed in weeks. “You’ve seen the error of your ways, I hope!” he called to your companion, clambering to his feet, suddenly fully awake after seeing the face of his captor.

Arthur laughed, taunting the man. “I never been very good at that, I’m afraid,” he said, walking back to the desk to set down the coffee mug. 

Mr. Albright, now beginning to panic again, dashed to the bars of the jail cell, pressing his face through them. You jumped back, not wanting to be near the man. “They’re gonna hang me! This is a gross miscarriage of justice!” he pleaded, his voice increasing in pitch with each phrase. He was terrified.

Anger bloomed in your face. This man, the man who murdered your husband, had the  _ gall  _ to claim innocence? He had the  _ audacity _ to try to convince someone that he had done nothing wrong? You wouldn’t take that. “The only miscarriage of justisce around here is that you weren’t hanged five years ago,” you spat, voice coming out hoarse and full of venom.

He seemed to have finally noticed you at that, and turned his gaze to you without recognition. He didn’t know who you were. He didn’t have any idea what he had done to you - to your  _ family _ . “Ma’am, you must be mistaken,” he explained, clearing his throat and trying his best to regain his composure. To convince you of his innocence. To con you into believing him, like he had done to so many others. “I am a  _ healer _ ! A  _ medical man _ ! I  _ save _ people!”

His explanation made you sick. “Like you  _ saved  _ my husband?” tears threatened to fall again as you spoke, but this time they weren’t from sadness. They were from frustration, from anger, from pure, unadulterated  _ hatred  _ for the man before you. 

“I- I am sure you must be mistaken,” he said, his voice getting higher. He slowly backed away from the bars and toward the other side of the darkened cell, treating you like an angry animal in the wild.

But as soon as his hands had left the bars, you lunged at him, getting as close to the man as possible. “No,” you shrieked, anger completely overcoming you. You reached into the cell, catching him by the shirt collar before he could fully get away. “I had accepted his fate. He was sick, and things happen, I thought. For  _ so long _ I assumed there was nothing we could have done.” You pulled him roughly toward you, forcing him to look you in the eye.

“Ma’am, please…” his voice shook as he spoke. He raised his hands, palms towards you, in a futile attempt to diffuse the situation.

“You killed him!” you screamed, grabbing the other side of his collar with your free hand and shaking him in frustration.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you are talking about,” he managed, still trying to worm his way out.

You were having none of it. “Your miracle tonic was supposed to help him! But he took it and died  _ overnight _ ,” you hissed, lightly dusting his face with your spit. “Do you know what it’s like? To lose someone you love so dearly? To raise a child on your own after losing the love of your life? After being forced to sell your home?  _ Do you _ ?”

“I…” he stammered, looking towards the floor.

Even if he had been able to try to explain himself, you weren’t in the mood to let him. “How many other women are there like me out there? How many men have you killed for an easy payday?” your voice again rose in a steady crescendo as you questioned him, ending with you yelling the last phrase directly into his face. 

He turned his face from you to look at the two men in the room, begging for help. “Please, someone get this woman out of here! She’s hysterical!” he cried. You roughly yanked on his collar so that his face was thrown forward and made contact with the metal bars. 

Holding tight, not allowing him to move, you nearly screamed in frustration. “Hysterical? I finally realise that my husband was murdered, and I’m able to look the man that killed him in the eye only to have him deny  _ everything _ ?!” you shrieked directly into his face. He was pressed against the bars, his cheeks red. “You are damn right I’m hysterical!”

“Sheriff!” he called as best he could, pushing against the bars to escape your grasp. “Sheriff! Please get this woman out of my sight!”

You heard a sigh behind you and the scrape of chair legs against the wooden floor. “I’m real sorry,” came Sheriff Malloy’s voice from behind you, saying your name as his footsteps neared, “but I think you’d better leave.”

You knew you were about to be thrown out, but you would absolutely get the last word. “You sorry piece of shit!” you screamed again, shaking the man and forcing him to hit his head several times on the metal bars. You felt Arthur’s hands on your shoulders, pulling you gently away. “I hope you burn in hell for what you’ve done!” you spat, finally letting him go and stepping away from the cell.

Sheriff Malloy stepped up behind the two of you, also putting a hand on your shoulder. “Please,” he said calmly. “I think you should go now. He’ll get what he’s due. I promise.”

You finally acquiesced, letting Arthur direct you from the room and through the back door of the jail. Your heart was pounding, breath coming out in angry gasps, when you arrived outside. Arthur turned you to face him, shushing you gently and trying to calm you. “It’s alright,” his voice was calm, and directly opposite of how you were feeling, how you wanted to feel. 

The adrenaline that had overtaken you was  _ overwhelming _ . It left you with a red face, and desperately needing some sort of outlet for your increased energy. Arthur pulled you closer to him, still trying to calm you down with soft words and quiet shushes. Suddenly, your outlet had been found.

Without warning, you lunged for him. Your lips met his and he staggered backward. The kiss was needy and frantic, your hands on the sides of his face, keeping him in place and grazing over his stubble.

He paused for an agonizingly long moment, shocked, before finally kissing you back. Large, warm hands moved from your shoulders to your hips as he pulled you closer with a swift movement. You melted into him, leaning against the hard, warm panes of his body to keep your balance. 

Nothing was said, but nothing needed to be said. The situation had gotten you incredibly worked up, and the two of you were inevitably acting on the sexual tension that had built up as high as a mountain over the course of your past few coincidental meetings. Lips still locked in a heated kiss, you reached up to run a hand through his hair and were pleasantly surprised to find it freshly washed. He must have had a bath before coming to dinner.

For some reason, the idea of him preparing for this,  _ anticipating _ it, spurred you on. It was so incredibly thoughtful, incredibly  _ attractive, _ that he would go to the effort for you. You moved one of your hands to gently stroke the back of his head, down to the nape of his neck where you took hold of some hair and gently  _ pulled _ . He groaned into your mouth - the most erotic sound you had heard in years. You needed to hear it again. Determined, you made your move as he pulled away from your mouth and leaned into the touch of your hands at the back of his neck. You went for his throat.

Literally.

Your left hand slid to the collar of Arthur’s shirt, moving his bandana aside, and you stood on your toes to kiss and bite at his exposed neck. He breathed your name, voice like music in your ears. Slowly, his hands moved to the small of your back, helping you keep your balance and bringing your body closer to his, if that were even possible. He groaned again, tilting his head to the side, as you kissed along his jaw. 

His hands moved from your hips to your backside, squeezing it and pulling you into him. A jolt of electricity shot through you as you pressed against his pants, feeling the hard, hot  _ need _ at your waist.

His neck was giving you a goldmine of grunts and groans that you would dream about for the next month, but you wanted - no,  _ needed _ \- more. Slowly, you licked a line up to his ear before gently biting on his earlobe. Nothing mattered to you now except him - all of him. 

Your fingers deftly unbuttoned his shirt, and then combed through the wiry hair on his chest. One hand then paused, sprawled across the middle of his chest, while the other moved up again to snake around his neck. You moved your mouth back to his, whispering his name, your voice trembling. 

Meanwhile, strong,  _ hot _ hands reached under the band of your skirt and under your blouse. He lightly brushed against your skin, hitching up your shirt until he could easily skim calloused fingers up your spine, forcing a needy whine from your lips. 

Your other hand slid up his chest and again to the back of his neck, pulling him toward the back of the building. The aging slats of wood dug lightly into your back through the fabric of your blouse and jacket as you hitched your leg around his hip. A strong hand came to your thigh, helping you keep your leg locked around him. Your tongues danced, your hands pulled again at his hair, and he began to grind against you at an agonizingly slow pace. For just a moment, he pulled his lips away from you, and you got a look at him.

His cheeks were flushed, lips swollen, eyes glazed over with lust. You hadn’t seen something so handsome, so strong, so incredibly  _ erotic _ in years. 

Before you knew what was happening, he dipped his head low to the crux of your neck. His hot breath gave you goosebumps as he licked and nipped at your skin, leaving what would be very visible love bites in the morning. You hurriedly swung your arm up to your mouth, biting on your thumb to keep quiet, but not before you had let out a loud moan that sounded not completely unlike his name. 

A dam had been broken and there would be no stopping you now.

Unless…

Arthur faltered at the sound of horse hooves headed in your direction, one hand on your thigh and the other balanced against the wall behind you. You took no notice until he started to reluctantly pull away with a drawn-out sigh. “You don’t want to do this, darlin’,” he groaned, unraveling your leg from his waist and stepping slowly backwards, away from you. The hand that had been on the wall was now massaging his forehead in frustration. “Not with me.”

You looked at him, confused, breathless, mind racing, heart still beating a mile a minute. What was he talking about?

“You‘re just worked up, ‘n’ I ain’t gonna take advantage of that,” he explained, having seen your confusion. He backed further away, face flushed, eyes closed. 

“Arthur… what- what on Earth?” you started, but stopped yourself as you too came to your senses. He was probably right. You were incredibly attracted to him, that was true, but the two of you barely knew each other, not to mention that an alleyway behind the jail wasn’t exactly the best place for this to happen. “You’re… I suppose you’re right…” you groaned, leaning back against the wall and putting your hand over your face. “... but only about me being worked up.”

His eyes shot up from the ground to look at you, astonished, as if he didn’t believe you could want to be with  _ him _ of all people. His shock was laughable. Of course you wanted him, how could you not? And how could he be remotely confused by that? “I  _ absolutely  _ do want to do this with you… but right now… behind the jail…  _ maybe _ it’s not the best place for it…” the blush that stained your face after your adrenaline had gone down was impossible to hide. 

You nervously glanced away from him and brought your hands together to fiddle with your wedding ring. 

Maybe it was finally time to take it off.


	6. Chapter 6

You awoke the next morning to the sound of birds chirping and early morning sunlight streaming into your room. You could vaguely hear Ben’s voice from downstairs as he chattered away to either Mary or Ms. Becker. A glance at the wooden clock hanging on the wall over the door told you it was not quite 7:00 - and since Ben seemed thoroughly distracted you decided to stay in bed and take a few extra minutes to yourself to reflect on the night before. It had been a long time since you had awoken with a smile on your face, but today your grin stretched from ear to ear.

After your fortunate (or unfortunate?) interruption the night before, the two of you had decided it would be best to call it a night. Aside from the fact that you  _ barely _ knew each other, Valentine was a town without secrets, and if anyone caught a glimpse of what you had been up to, you would never live it down. 

After you managed to catch your breath, you had tugged on your jacket, rebuttoned the top few buttons on your blouse, and were straightening up your hair when a sudden wave of thorough exhaustion hit you. You had had more than enough excitement for one day, and were ready to get home and collapse in bed - even if that meant you were forced to leave the man in front of you. 

The man, whose face had still been flushed, and who hadn’t bothered to fully rebutton his shirt. The man who still was looking lustfully at you, even as he stood a few meters away to contain himself. Dragging him home with you, bringing him up to your room, was so  _ incredibly _ tempting. Alas, your exhaustion won out, and you forced yourself to head home alone.

Originally, you had wanted to avoid any awkward silence on your trip home and bid him farewell when you had reached the street in front of the sheriff’s office. However, after having walked you around the building and to his horse, still hitched at the saloon, Arthur insisted on walking you the rest of the way. 

Luckily, the walk was short, and although the two of you were lost for words, the silence somehow wasn’t awkward. Rather, it seemed that both of you were lost in your thoughts, moseying back and occasionally eyeing the other. You reached the boarding house in no time. 

The lights were all out, the house again quiet as everyone slept. In the window, you could see the faint outline of Ben’s wooden horse, which he occasionally left out to watch for you when he went to bed. The corners of your lips turned up into a small smile at the thought of your son, worried about you after today’s adventures, putting up a lookout so that he would know when you were home.

In the yard, Arthur tied off his horse’s lead, and walked you up the few steps to the door. You followed his lead, stopping when he turned to you. “Look…” he started, taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair. “What you said back there…”

“Did I mean it?” you finished for him, not wanting to allow him to dig deeper into that well of self-deprecation that he was constantly drinking from. You let out a breathy laugh, it really was unbelievable how much he doubted himself. The old floorboards on the porch creaked slightly as you stepped closer to him, taking his free hand in yours. “Yes… absolutely,” you told him quietly, before standing on your toes and placing a light kiss on his cheek. Not giving him any time to respond, you brushed past him and to the door. “Goodnight, Mountain Man.”

You don’t know how long he stood there once you had gone inside, but once the door had closed you had leaned against it and held in an excited squeal. It had been so long since you had felt this. This exciting, heart-pounding,  _ overwhelming  _ feeling hadn’t been a part of your life since Andrew, and you couldn't help yourself - you wanted more. 

Slowly, you had made your way upstairs, careful to avoid any creaky floorboards. Ben was fast asleep in bed, the drawing once again clutched to his chest. You again pried it from his hands, careful not to rip it, gave him a kiss on the forehead, and fell into bed, exhausted.

The next morning, having allowed yourself a few extra minutes of rest, you finally got out of bed and made yourself ready for the day. A wide smile graced your face and you were wholly unable to shoo away the butterflies in your stomach. It felt like you were once again a lovestruck teenager, and for some reason you were completely fine with that. 

You took your breakfast inside with Mary and Ben, who had somehow whipped up a feast of scrambled eggs, fresh bread, and aromatic coffee. You suspected it was more Mary’s doing than Ben’s, but thanked the two of them equally, regardless. You smacked an intentionally wet kiss on Ben’s cheek, the smile never leaving your face, and ate.

\---

A few hours later, the three of you had cleaned up the dishes and since moved to the living room for a game of dominoes. You sat alongside Mary on an aging yellow sofa, in front of a low coffee table. Ben bounced up and down on his knees, kneeling on the dingy rug in front of you. The dominos were an old set, inherited from your mother-in-law who had bought them as a child. The paint was fading, and a couple of pieces were lost to the ages, but they were still playable, despite their faults.

After a few rounds, a timid knock on the door reached your ears. You, already too far behind in points to even consider a comeback, stood from your seat to answer it.

You laughed at the other two, shushing them as you exited the room. The hallway was bright in the mid-morning light, reflecting off a small, dingy mirror on the back wall. There was an obvious skip in your step as you made your way to the door, which creaked lightly as you opened it to reveal a familiar man standing on the porch.

He was dressed in the same clothes as the evening before, his hair slightly mussed, and was looking out into the field in front of the house. His arms rested on the porch railing, his hands clasped together. He must have heard the creak of old hinges, because he quickly turned to face you almost immediately after the door had fully opened.

The grin on your face, ever present since the previous evening, only grew wider upon seeing him. “Arthur!” you smiled, stepping out into the morning air and starting to close the door behind you. “What are you doing here?” you chided, grin morphing into a playful smirk. You tilted your head to the side, taking in the man before you.

He cleared his throat and reached up to take his hat from his head. For some reason, he didn’t return your flirting, which made you falter. You were immediately beginning to feel the seeds of doubt growing inside of you. Was he regretting the previous night? Did he come here to tell you that it couldn’t happen again?

Quietly, he spoke your name and cleared his throat. “I… I was comin’ to see... a friend,” he managed, looking at the ground.

And there it was. The way he paused before saying “friend” made it all click into place. Unless he was here to see Ms. Becker, there was only one other person he could possibly be visiting.

Mary. 

Mary, who needed help finding her brother. Mary, who had seen former acquaintances in town. Mary, who had mentioned calling on her long lost love for help.

Of course that love was Arthur.

You cleared your throat again, regaining your composure and taking a small step back towards the still ajar door. “Oh… well that’s good,” you plastered a practiced smile on your face. Covering your sadness and disappointment had become second nature to you in the last few years. “Here I thought you were following me or something,” you teased, hoping the disappointment in your voice wouldn’t come through.

It did.

Arthur, thankfully, at least pretended he didn’t notice. His response was more in line with your meetings throughout the week, beginning with what should have been one of those loud barks of a laugh. Instead, it was breathy and dejected. “What kind of man do you take me for, miss?” he retorted, evidently trying his best to ignore your feelings and hide his own.

It didn’t work.

“I’m not so sure anymore, Mountain Man,” you breathed, far less flirty than you had originally intended. You wanted to sink into the floor. On the off chance that he hadn’t noticed your disappointment earlier, he most certainly would have after that comment. You looked away from him and cleared your throat into your hand, hoping to cover your crestfallen face.

“It’s nice to see you, of course,” he muttered, breaking a very awkward silence that had overcome the two of you. He continued fiddling with the edge of his hat and looked at you from his position across the porch. “But is... um… is Mrs. Linton in?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and glanced back toward the door. “Oh, Mary?” you responded, feigning slight surprise. You were right, and you hated it. Why couldn’t he have come to visit Ms. Becker? “I think so, I’ll go see…” you murmured, biting your lip and turning to walk back into the house, closing the door as you did so.

For a second, you leaned back against the door as you had the night before. But this time, you were significantly less giddy. A strange feeling had overtaken you - another of those that you hadn’t felt in years.  _ Jealousy _ .

You contemplated not calling for her; going back outside and telling Arthur that she had already left. You shook those thoughts off almost immediately, however. Not only was that a completely obvious lie, but what good would it do? You had known him for only a few weeks, had seen him only a few times. A night of something  _ almost  _ intimate behind the sheriff's office gave you no claim over him. And god forbid you stand in the way of reuniting a lost love. 

If he wanted to be with Mary, if he still loved her, you weren’t going to stop him. “Mary?” you called, your voice slightly hoarse. You swallowed your pride and fiddled with the ring on your finger. “You have a caller!”

“Thank you!” you heard her from the living room, followed by the sound of her standing and delicate footsteps moving towards the hallway. “Coming!”

Before she made it out of the room, you pushed yourself from the door and opened it slightly for her. She slipped past you without another word, but with a hopeful smile on her face. In the few weeks she had been here, you had yet to see her like this. She was glowing.

You closed the door behind her, fully intending to give them their privacy and head back into the living room, but the way she breathed out his name as the door creaked to a close stopped you in your tracks. It was full of love, longing, disappointment; more emotions than you had seen the woman express in her entire time in Valentine.

The temptation to listen in on their conversation was too great. Quietly, carefully, you leaned back against the door, pressing an ear to the wood. Luckily, the old door was as bad at blocking sound as it was keeping out the cold in winter. 

“Hello, Arthur,” Mary breathed. You could picture her looking at him fondly, lovingly. As if their relationship had never ended. As if she had never remarried.

Then it was Arthur’s turn. Although his voice held the same fondness, the same longing, the same love, it was more disheartened. It was the voice of a broken man. “Mary… I, um…”

Mary interrupted him, knowing he wasn’t a man of words, knowing it was hard for him to express his feelings. “I heard you and your friends was around… I…” it was her turn to falter, as if she were unsure of where to steer the conversation.

“Okay,” Arthur continued, when it was apparent that Mary didn’t know what else to say. “Where’s what’s-his-name?”

“Died,” her response was short, and you could hear her footsteps on the porch as she walked closer to him.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Arthur responded. And from what you could hear, he  _ did _ sound sorry. But there was something else, something new in his voice that was hard to hear through the wood of the door. Hope.

“Yeah, me too,” she answered, quickly, trying to move the conversation forward and away from the increasingly depressing topic. “Happened a while ago. Pneumonia.”

“Bad business,” it was a formality, really. He obviously couldn’t immediately come out and ask why she was there, if she was there for him. But you knew it was coming. Now that the re-introductions were over, it was inevitable, and you couldn’t bear to listen any further.

Quietly, you pushed yourself away from the door, trying hard not to listen to any more of the conversation. It was obvious enough from his earlier demeanor that Arthur was still in love with her, and now that she was free again, he had his chance. He could finally live the life that he deserved, and you most certainly would not be one to stop him.

After all, you barely knew the man. He wasn’t yours to claim and he certainly wasn’t yours to lose.

Not ten minutes later, Mary bustled back into the house and stole your attention from the living room, where you had started a new game of dominoes with Ben as a distraction. She made her way down the hallway, a renewed spring in her step and a happy smile on her face. 

“Oh, you won’t believe what’s just happened,” she told you, drawing your hands into hers and sitting beside you on the couch. You could practically feel the excitement radiating off her. “I’m just… oh, I’m so  _ happy _ .” She looked into your eyes, her own brimming with joyful tears. 

You looked back at her, again swallowing the lump in your throat and pretending not to have heard any of her conversation with Arthur. “Hm?”

Hands still clasped in yours, she continued, “It’s  _ Arthur. _ I knew it had to have been him that you met in town the  _ minute _ I saw that drawing.” She looked towards Ben, who had since turned his focus to the two of you. He was fiddling with two of the dominoes and grinning back at her.

“The horse picture?” he asked, standing from his place on the floor and coming to sit with the two of you on the couch. Mary finally let go of your hands and scooted to the side to make space for him. Excited to have been helpful, he wiggled his way in between the two of you and allows you to wrap an arm around him. “It’s my favorite! Mr. Mountain Man can draw real good!”

“Oh, he certainly can, Ben,” Mary cooed, releasing one of your hands to ruffle his curls. He giggled and ducked slightly out of her way. “And if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have been certain that he was in town at all. But as soon as I saw that drawing I knew it was him, and I wrote to him last night.” 

She turned to look at you again, and you prayed that you were effectively hiding your dismay. You plastered a forced smile to your face and nodded, letting her continue despite the hurt. 

“And he  _ came _ ! Not a day later, and he’s here and helping me find Jamie!” she explained further, confirming what you had already suspected. “He… well, it’s wonderful to see him again. I’ve thought of him so often, especially after Barry, and… it… it really feels like he’s changed. He used to be so rough and…  _ reckless _ . And he’s  _ certainly _ still rough, he’s still running with those brutish outlaws, but it seems like he’s  _ grown _ . He’s… he’s calmer. He’s thinking things through.”

You cleared your throat and nodded, unable to speak, and instead let her continue her lovestruck rambling. 

You knew what it was like to lose someone you love, and you knew what it was like to desperately want them back in your life. So, if Mary and Arthur might be able to have that, you certainly weren’t going to get in the way. She didn’t need to know about  _ whatever it was _ that you had had with him. She didn’t need to know how you felt. You didn’t want to ruin her happiness. Besides, if he loved her, whatever you  _ had _ had was irrelevant anyway.

“I… I think he’s changed… he’s  _ changing _ ... for the better,” she continued, gently saying your name with a hopeful smile. “I think we may have another  _ chance _ .”

She stayed on the couch with you and Ben for only a moment longer before standing and leaving the room to pack in a flurry of anticipation. Her light footsteps reached the top of the stairs before you heard your name being called. “Would you mind being a dear and helping me gather my things?” came her voice through the hallway. “I’d like to meet them at the train station as soon as they return.”

You sighed, pushing yourself off of the old couch reluctantly. “Of course, Mary,” you called back to her, smiling bittersweetly down at your son and placing a kiss to his forehead, more thankful than ever that you had him.


	7. Chapter 7

Mary had left in the early afternoon, pressing happy kisses to everyone’s cheeks, exactly as she had done upon her arrival. She promised to write and to send Ben plenty of candy from her next stop in San Denis, before making her way quickly to the train station with the help of Ms. Becker and one of the local stable hands. 

This left you plenty of time to finish up some chores, including laundering the bedsheets that Mary had borrowed, while Ben wore himself out again chasing the cat in the yard. The monotony of it left you to stew in the thoughts that had been plaguing you since seeing Arthur that morning.

He obviously hadn’t known that Mary was in town when he arrived, or when he had accepted your offer to get drinks. Otherwise, you were certain he would have never entertained the notion of drinks and dinner, let alone been so  _ receptive _ of your adrenaline-filled kiss. 

And that’s all it was, wasn’t it? 

You had been through so much that day, had been so worked up from not only  _ realising _ that your husband had been murdered, but also  _ seeing _ his murderer face to face, that all of your emotions came rushing out at once. Nothing more, nothing less.

Arthur was attractive, sure. And excellent with Ben. And he seemed like a decent man - despite what Mary had said about him running with outlaws. But you barely knew each other… those feelings, the butterflies in your stomach, the way you couldn’t wait to hear his laugh, they were just symptoms of newfound puppy love. 

And you would get over it.

You would get over him.

After all, what use was there in pining after a man who was in love with someone else?

The rest of the day had passed without incident. You finished chores, Ben read a few chapters of his book and helped you out when you asked, the two of you had dinner. Soon enough, the sun was setting, painting bright reds and pinks across the sky in a way that was particularly unique to the Heartlands, and you were helping your son into his bed.

Pulling the warm quilt up to his chin, you tucked him in and gave him a kiss on his forehead. He let out a long, exhausted yawn and looked at you with wide, innocent eyes. “Mama,” he said softly as you sat down on the side of his bed and brushed the hair away from his face. “I really liked Miss Mary.” Another yawn. “And she looked so happy today when she left. Do you think she’s gonna come back and visit us?”

You smiled at him, hand still on his curls that reminded you so much of his father. “We’ll have to see, sweetheart,” you explained to him. It was unlikely that Mary would be back in Valentine for a while, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him. One heart in the house had already been hurt today, you didn’t need to add his to it. “She did say she would write, didn’t she?” you continued, “And send candy from St. Denis.” A warm smile, just for him, graced your lips. 

“Do they have different candies in St. Denis?” his voice was growing even sleepier as he spoke. The boy had the astounding ability to fall asleep even in the middle of a conversation if he was tired enough. “I like candies…” Small eyelids fluttered shut and you felt his deep breaths on your arm. Asleep. 

You ran your hand gently to his cheek, looking at your child in adoration. So small. So gentle. So  _ perfect _ .

If only Andrew were there to see him.

A lump found its way into your throat again, as tears threatened to spill. You stood carefully, making sure not to wake Ben and chiding yourself for being so emotional. Telling yourself it was because you missed your husband. Trying to convince yourself that it had nothing to do with the man you had somehow become so attached to in the past few weeks.

A few deep breaths calmed you down enough so that you could hold back your tears. There was no need to cry, especially if it would cause the poor, tired child distress. You could just go to bed, ignore your feelings, and everything would be fine in the morning.

Which is exactly what you had intended to do, until you were abruptly woken from your sleep a few hours later.

At first, you thought it was your imagination; your overwhelmed mind playing tricks on you. But then it happened again. And again. Your name rang in your ears, the sound coming from the front of your house. Each time it grew louder, the last syllable drawn out in a drunken slur, until you finally stood to look out the window.

To your shock, standing out in the grass and staring back up at you through the darkness, stood the hulking form of the man who had been on your mind all day. His hat was lopsided on his head, his body rocked back and forth as he tried to keep his balance. The man was completely drunk.

As soon as you realised who was standing in your front lawn, you darted down the stairs and out the door, foregoing slippers or a housecoat. The ground was cold under your bare feet, and the wind whipped through your nightgown, chilling you as you approached him.

“Ar-Arthur?” you called, just a few steps away from the porch. He started staggering toward you with a wide grin on his face. “What on earth are you doing here?” Your next question came out as more of a hiss, torn between knowing you needed to keep quiet and wanting to make your irritation evident.

Arthur, however, was anything but quiet. He barked out the laugh that you had come to adore as he reached you. “Comin’ to visit, o’course!” he slurred, his voice far louder than you would have liked. “Was out drinkin’ and couldn’ think o’ anywhere else I wanted t’ be!” he continued, reaching over to wrap an arm around your shoulders and pull you up the stairs. 

You turned to follow him, darting out from under his heavy grasp and in front of the door before he could open it. “Arthur…” you whispered, scolding him. “It’s  _ 3 in the morning _ .” You hoped he would get the hint and quiet down a bit. Otherwise, the entire conversation would need to stay outside, lest you disturb the other members of the household.

He stumbled closer to you, his voice only slightly quieter. “What’s your…” he paused and leaned a hand against the wall behind your head to keep his balance. He was so close to you, bringing back memories of the previous night. His scent overwhelmed your senses. The smell of smoke, earth, hay, and whisky; it was almost too much. You wanted to bottle it up. “What’s your problem anyway?” he drunkenly whispered, his lips nearing your ear before he leaned his head on your shoulder.

“E-excuse me?” you stammered, frozen in place by the sudden contact. Sure, you had flirted and you had initiated whatever had happened the previous evening. But  _ he _ was the one who stopped.  _ He _ was the one who left with another woman the next morning. _ He _ was the one who showed up drunk on your porch in the dead of night. “Arthur, you barged in here while I was sleeping and-”

There is no reasoning with a drunk man.

“No, no no no no,” he murmured, lifting his forehead from your shoulder. Suddenly, he turned around and leaned against the wall beside you with a low thud. “That’s… ‘s not what I meant. What’s your problem…” One of his large, dirty hands came to his face and he began to massage his temples before continuing with a drunken sigh. “...Why you gotta go on makin’ me feel like this?”

You were completely flabbergasted. “What on earth are you talking about?” you spat, still trying to keep relatively quiet, yet unable to contain your frustration with the man. What exactly did you make him feel? From the way the last day and a half had gone, you had only assumed you had made him feel ashamed, or even embarrassed. Especially after he had run off for Mary in the morning.

He was still leaning back against the wall with his hand on his face when he spoke next. “I… I ain’t known you for a few weeks and…” he paused for a moment, before looking at you with a deep sigh. “... you’re all I think about.”

He was drunk. He was completely, utterly drunk. Three sheets to the wind. That was the only explanation. Because, god damn it, if he couldn’t stop thinking about you, then why the hell had he pushed you aside to see Mary? “Arthur, I think you need to lay down,” you sighed, turning to open the door. 

He could sleep on the couch, leave in the morning, and the two of you could forget this ever happened. It would be like you had just met. Like you didn’t even know each other. 

It would work. It had to.

As soon as the door was open, you gently clapped a hand on his shoulder and led him into the house. The floor creaked lightly as you directed him over to the living room, where the domino set was still lying out on the table. A blanket was draped over the back of the sofa, which you grabbed before directing Arthur to sit down. 

Instead, he stumbled across the room and to one of the windows overlooking the front yard. “See, there… there you go,” he rambled, raising a hand lethargically to indicate to you. His face was flushed with alcohol, and he looked at you strangely, a mixture of adoration and exasperation. “Walkin’ all ‘round here and pretendin’ to care about me. Flirtin’ and lookin’ at me with those pretty eyes o’ yours. Makin’ me forget that…” he paused for a moment, bringing a hand once again to his face as he leaned against the wall. “...ain’t no one really care ‘bout me. ‘m an old, ugly, angry bastard ‘n could never deserve someone like you.” He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes as soon as he finished his sentence, as if he were about to fall asleep standing right there.

You took a step toward him, trying your best to ignore the butterflies that had come to life in your stomach at his revelation. He was drunk, he didn’t know what he was saying. You should’t take him seriously. “Arthur, please,” you said, your voice cracking slightly. Whether it was from the fact that it was 3am or the overwhelming situation that you suddenly found yourself in, you weren’t entirely sure. “You’re drunk, come sit down.” With that, you reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, anticipating the electric spark of your touch on his skin with both dread and excitement.

He looked at you when your hand landed on his shoulder, but only for a moment. Quickly, he tore his eyes away from yours and shrugged your hand away, as if it hurt to be in contact with you. “‘n then Mary! Mary was here and was wantin’ me to come ‘round and help her and then scoldin’ me like always. ‘N here I am, jumpin’ at the chance to see her ‘n all she ever does is bring me down,” he continued, rambling, drunk. “But you, you’d never do that, you’re always so… so kind. Even to Mary… even to people you don’t like.” Staggering footsteps brought him to the couch, where he collapsed with a thud and leaned back against the cushions.

You were at a loss for words. He may have been completely wasted, but it was getting awfully hard not to believe what he said. It was getting awfully hard to keep stamping down the seed of hope that had embedded itself in your stomach. After all,  _ the drunken man speaks the sober man’s thoughts _ , as they say. But you wouldn’t push him, you could talk about this in the morning. 

“I’ll get you some water.”

You pulled the blanket over his lap and made to leave the room, but were stopped by his hand on your wrist. He looked up at you with his beautiful teal eyes, making you weak in the knees. “I… I don’ need no water,” he said with a large yawn, covering his mouth with his arm. “I just… I jus’ came here to tell you how I feel. ‘Cus god knows I won’t be able t’ do it when ‘m sober. ‘n’ then I’ll leave and ya won’ have t’ deal with this sour ol’ bastard ever again.” He finally let go of your wrist and looked down to his lap, taking a deep breath.

The couch creaked lightly when you moved to sit next to him, reveling in the warmth of his body next to yours. You turned to face him, placing a hand gently on his broad shoulder. “Arthur…” you didn’t want to continue the conversation about his feelings for now, but you would certainly not leave him alone to spiral into his self-hatred.

He didn’t let you continue, and instead kept quietly rambling on, staring at his hands. “I don’... I don’ deserve you,” he managed as his eyelids began to droop. He leaned his head back against the back of the old couch and looked at the ceiling. With a frustrated groan, he again brought his hand up to cover his face and continued. “But ‘m so sweet on you. ...feel like a stupid li’l boy again when ‘m around you. ‘N you don’ even feel the same. Or if you do… you shoa as hell shouldn’t.”

You had to swallow down the lump in your throat. You wanted to believe him, you wanted to lean into him and breathe in his scent and fall asleep curled together on the couch. You wanted to kiss him and tell him that you _ do  _ feel the same, that you care about him too. 

But you were scared. 

He obviously still cared about Mary, and the last thing you needed to do was to get your hopes up and have them crushed. The two of you could talk about this in the morning, when he had slept all of this off and could think clearly again. “Arthur,” you said gently, prying his hand from his face and pulling it to his lap. You looked at him with the same gaze that you often gave your sleepy son when he refused to go to bed - amused, exhausted, affectionate. “You need to sleep.”

“Shoa, but I gotta tell ya…” he grunted, sitting up straight and turning to look you in the eye.

You sighed, he really was being adorably uncooperative. “You’re drunk, Arthur. We can talk about this in the morning.”

“Last night… the other night behind the jailhouse…” he continued, despite your gentle pleas for him to sleep. “I… I felt better wit’chu than I have in years.” He looked away then, which was a relief. He couldn’t see the shock that spread across your face. “‘n’ then… ‘n’ then when I saw the look on your face this mornin’... you looked so happy t’see me… ‘n’ then I went ‘n’ asked for Mary…” he groaned, once again leaning back onto the couch in defeat. “‘n’ the look on your face… you looked so damn sad… ‘n’ it was all ‘cause of me…” He finally trailed off, lost in self-loathing, regretting that he had been the one to cause your pain.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to think. He needed to sleep. This couldn’t keep going. “Arthur, please…” you pleaded, reaching over and brushing your fingers gently through his hair; a trick you had learned when Ben was a baby. Maybe it would work on Arthur as well.

“No no no no no,” he groaned, leaning into your touch. Each word came out slower, more lethargic than the last. “I just... just gotta tell ya. If this was… if this was another life. If you wasn’t too good for me… I’d-” Suddenly, his words trailed off, followed shortly by a loud snore. 

You bit your lip to hold back frustrated tears and drew your hand away from his hair to look at him. He was finally asleep, leaning back against the worn couch with a blanket strewn over his lap. You were tempted to lie him down, make him more comfortable, but decided against it. It would be best if you avoided waking him. 

Instead, with one last glance, you let out a deep sigh and pulled the blanket over his broad chest. Quietly, you stood and made your way out of the room and up to your bedroom. You climbed quietly into your bed, where you lied awake for the rest of the night; unable to stop thinking about the man on your couch downstairs.


	8. Chapter 8

Daybreak finally arrived just a few hours after Arthur had fallen asleep on your couch. The morning sun filtered through your curtains, bathing the room in a bluish light. Birds began to sing outside and, across the room, you could just make out the quiet breaths of your son, fast asleep. Any other day, it would have been beautifully calm, peaceful and relaxing.

However, _that_ morning, as you lay in bed, your thoughts kicked up a whirlwind in your mind. A large, anxious lump had dug itself into your throat, perfectly complementing the knot in your stomach. All at once, you felt tired and energetic, nauseous and perfectly fine, shaky and still. You couldn't rightly explain the anxiety, the irritation, you were feeling at that moment. 

For hours, you had tried to logic it away. You had spent far too long thinking about it all after lying down; lying awake and thinking of the man who had barged into your life so suddenly. Dreaming out all of the possibilities. Imagining waking up in the morning and seeing him there, or seeing him gone. Living through lives both with and without him in your mind. And then? Stewing in the guilt of wanting him there. Feeling like you were betraying Andrew somehow, but still wanting to have Arthur in your life anyway. Knowing what you want may not matter.

Seeing the sun creep through the curtains, you resolved that if you hadn't been able to get to sleep before, you certainly wouldn't be able to any more. With a heavy sigh, you pushed yourself up from your bed, slipped on your houseshoes and a housecoat and tiptoed out of the room. 

It was chilly in the hallway, the stove must have gone out during the middle of the night. You pulled your housecoat tighter around you, and listened. Soft snores came from the living room. You let out a soft breath that you didn't know you had been holding, wholly unsure if his presence was a good or bad thing at this point. If he had left, you would have your answer. But he was here, and it meant you would have to _talk_.

Downstairs, you carefully placed a few logs into the stove and relit it, warming your hands by its growing warmth. As the stove heated you filled a percolator, soon enough, the smell of fresh, warm coffee filled the room. You poured yourself a cup and grabbed a bread roll, ready to head outside and embrace the chill of the morning.

The anxious knot in your stomach still hadn't left, and you were acutely aware of the man in the other room. Would he even want to talk about what he had said. Did he _remember_ it? Would he try to avoid you entirely, and slip out of the house without a goodbye? In fact, you were so lost in your thoughts about him, that you didn't hear him enter the kitchen until he cleared his throat, startling you. 

"Mornin'," he grunted, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. You noticed that his shirt was unbuttoned, revealing the top half of a red union suit, and his suspenders hung loose at his waist. He put his hat on as he shuffled to the stove, his eyes still half closed with sleep. "D'you mind?" he indicated to the half empty percolator.

You cleared your throat and nodded. "Go ahead." He poured the rest of the coffee into a cup that he had pulled from the satchel at his side. His shirt stretched over his broad back, and you couldn't look away. You wrapped your arms around yourself, watching as he moved. The knot in your stomach only grew tighter. Again, you cleared your throat, and spoke quietly, "I hope I didn't wake you."

"'Course not. I'm always up with the sun," he shrugged, turning from the stove to face you. "Thanks." He lifted the coffee and nodded at you before taking a sip, eyes closed.

You finally tore your eyes away from him to look out the window. The sun had risen about halfway above the foothills of the Grizzlies in the distance, painting the sky with an array of pink and orange. A soft wind jostled the leaves on the few trees outside in the yard, but everything else was still, _peaceful_. "I was just going to head outside, if you want to join me."

He hummed, "Shoa."

You quickly, quietly made your way to the front door, opening it slowly to avoid the loud creak. The fresh air hit you when you stepped outside, the light chill making you shiver as moved to the porch railing. You leaned forward, balancing your coffee on the weather-worn wood and broke off a piece of the roll. It was tempting to immediately ask him about what had happened, if he had meant what he said. You cleared your throat to begin, fiddling with the piece of bread in your hands, and ... couldn't do it. 

It had been _years_ since you had been this nervous around a man. Nearly a _decade_ since you had been any more than passively interested in someone. Add in the rollercoaster that was the last few days - your dalliance behind the sheriff's office and the revelation that he had once been engaged to Mary - and you were wholly unable to say anything more.

Maybe it was for the best. You had resolved the day before to start over, to pretend he was no more than an acquaintance, and maybe that was what you needed to do. The things he said when he was drunk shouldn't change that... should they? 

So, in that moment, you decided that you would avoid the conversation entirely. If he brought it up, that was fine. And if he didn't? Well, it would be easier in the end. "How're you feeling?"

Arthur chuckled and walked over to join you at the porch railing. He leaned forward, standing altogether too close to you. You could feel his warmth on your side, and it made your breath catch in your throat. "Like I've been run over by a horse," he groaned, a small grin on his face. 

You smiled back at him for a moment, "I can imagine." The wind rustled the tall grass in the front of the house, mixing the smell of your coffee with the sweet scent of spring dew. Grounded in your resolve to not touch on the events of a few hours ago, you were at a loss for what to say next. Nonetheless, your heart was hammering in your chest, torn between anxiety, guilt, and a kernel of hope. 

After a moment's pause, however, Arthur decided to breach the gap. "About last night..." he started, slowly, allowing you to cut him off.

Which you did, immediately, "It's fine, you were drunk." You hoped that would be sufficient, that it would allow you to move on. Allow you to finish your coffee and let him ride away into the morning sun. Maybe then the war being waged inside your mind would finally calm.

"I shouldn'tve come 'round like that," he said quietly, staring down into his half-empty cup. 

He was right. He absolutely shouldn't have. Not after you had felt so good, so _free_ with him at the sheriff's office. Not after he crushed your newfound hopes by running to Mary the very next morning. Not after you had resolved to leave him be. "It's fine, it wasn't any trouble," you said instead. The politeness of the Heartlands has overtaken you, there was no way you could tell him those things. Hopefully he would accept your lie and you could move on.

A scoff came from his lips. He knew you were only being polite. "Shouldn'tve told you anything. 'M real sorry," he continued, despite your unspoken wish for him to stop. "You deserve so much better than a scary old bastard. 'm sorry. I'll..."

You narrowed your eyes in confusion at that. Again with the self-degradation. It pulled at your heartstrings. You didn't deserve him? Why did he think so lowly of himself? And if that was his reasoning then... Maybe, just maybe, he _did_ actually mean what he had said. Maybe he did care for you, he just didn't think he was worth it?

The spark of hope that you had been trying to stomp out for the past few hours re-ignited. "I..." you started, quietly, feeling the knot in your stomach constrict. "What you said last night... It's been the same for me."

And there it was. You had said it. There was no going back now.

So, you continued. "First of all, you're not old and you're _certainly_ not scary," you rambled, not daring to look at him. You set down your coffee cup on the railing next to your uneaten roll, and instead fiddled with the ring on your finger. "I can't speak for others, but I certainly don't think you're a bastard. I think... I think you're a good man, Arthur. I _like_ spending time with you. I like _being_ with you. But... it's just..." Telling him this, it felt right, like a weight had been lifted. But at the same time, the guilt, the feeling of betrayal to Andrew, it wasn't leaving. 

"It feels wrong, don't it? Moving on..." Arthur mused, setting his coffee cup next to yours and looking into the distance. 

As usual, he knew. He _understood_. "Exactly."

"After Mary..." he continued, "well, I met this woman, Eliza. Weren't nothin' special between us, but she was there when I needed her. One thing led to another, 'n' she got pregnant. 'n' I'm shoa you've sorted out by now that I ain't no factory worker..." He chuckled at your nod. "Well... we don't stay in one place too long. But once we left, I still tried to stop by to see her and the boah as often as I could. Turns out it weren't enough."

You knew he understood, knew he acutely knew the feeling of loss, but this? This was _not_ what you had been expecting. Losing Andrew had been hard enough, but if you had lost Ben as well? It would have been the end of you. "Arthur..." you raised a hand to touch his shoulder, but for some reason, you thought twice. Your hand faltered a few inches from him, frozen in the air.

He didn't let you continue or try to comfort him. Instead, he went on, "Came back one month... 'n' they'd been murdered by a mean old bastard _just like me_." By the end of the sentence, his voice had dropped and had become filled with remorse. "So, what I'm tryin to say is... I know what it's like. Least a little. Feelin' like you're betrayin' them by bein' happy." Finally, he turned to look at you. You wished he hadn't. "But it ain't true. 'N you deserve to be happy."

What did he mean? Despite the ever present kernel of grief from the loss of your husband, you _were_ happy. With Ben. With _him_. You may not have known him long, but it had been a long time since you had felt this way. And if he was saying that he felt the same? Well, god damn it, you were going to stamp down any guilt you had over Andrew because he was right. You deserved this. 

Slowly, you reached up to caress his cheek, only for him to sharply pull away. He caught your hand in his grasp, and looked into your eyes. "'n' I wish I could give that to you. You 'n' Ben... well, if the world was different, I'd stay here with you. See where this goes. But...we're stuck here. In _this_ world... 'n' I can't give you the _life_ you deserve, and I shoa as hell can't be the man you deserve."

You were fully taken aback. That was _really_ why he was pulling away? Because he felt like he wasn't good enough? Your whirlwind of emotions was finally coming to a head. You were so tired and so damn _frustrated_ with the entire situation. "Shouldn't I be the one to decide that?" you snapped, pulling your hand from his and stepping backwards, away from him. 

Arthur shook his head, still trying to convince you, still trying to be chivalrous. "I can't let you," he resolved. "'n I'm real sorry for it."

"What... what on earth are you talking about? Are you still drunk?" It was all too much. It was one thing if he wasn't interested in you. It was one thing if he still had feelings for Mary. But to say he can't _let_ you be with him? To take any choice you had out of the matter? It was unthinkable.

You exploded.

"You come bursting in here at the asscrack of dawn this morning, and tell me you can't stop _thinking_ about me," you tried your best to keep your voice low, but your anger had gotten the best of you. People all the way in town could have probably heard you scolding him. "...and that I make you _happy_ , and then you tell me you _understand_ what I'm going through, but then..." You choked back a sob, trying to hold yourself together. "...then you don't want me around you? What the hell, Arthur?"

Arthur looked as frustrated as you felt. His cheeks were flushed, and he had removed his hat to run a hand through his hair. "You just don't understand!" he shouted, before gathering his wits and lowering the volume of his voice. "My life... it's _dangerous_. Can't have you come with me and risk you or the boah gettin' hurt."

Bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit. "There are other options you know. You could stay here, for one," you pleaded, ignoring the voice of reason in the back of your mind that reminded you that that way was impossible.

He sighed and looked down at you with regret. "I can't do that and you know it," he explained, turning again to face the horizon. Turning his back to you. "The gang Mary talked about... well, they're my family. Can't just up and leave 'em like that."

You let out a shaky breath, trying to get a hold of yourself and not to raise your voice again. "But you can come into my home, make my son adore you, make me..." you paused there. Did you really want to say this?

Yes.

"...make me fall for you, and then just disappear?" you finished, a disappointed glare aimed at his back. The angry energy that had overcome you moments ago was starting to dissipate. Quickly, you were becoming simply sad and _exhausted_.

"Look... it's different," he spoke quietly, you almost had to strain to hear him over the rustling of the grass and the singing birds. "You and me, we just met a few weeks ago, 'n'..."

You scoffed. It was no use. He was stubborn, and if he wasn't willing to put the work in, you sure as hell weren't either. You would be fine. Ben would be fine. Arthur Morgan could go and live his life however he wanted. "Right. I understand," you said, turning from him. As far as you were concerned, the conversation was over.

And then you heard your name, gently, pleadingly from the other side of the porch. "Please..." you hadn't heard him like this before. His voice was so soft, so _sad_.

This hurt him too. And he knew, as did you, that if he left now and made a clean break, it could end up saving the both of you a bigger heartache down the road. 

"No, I get it," you said, your voice suddenly strangely calm as you spun on your heel to face him again. "That talk about moving on, and how hard it was. That was true, but it's not really the reason you're pushing me away, is it? You're not feeling guilty. You're feeling afraid of opening up to someone and getting hurt again." You understood. The idea of letting someone into your life again was absolutely _terrifying_. But it was something you, at least, had been willing to try to overcome. "Well, fine. I'll take on the hurt for you."

With one last disappointed glance at the man in front of you, you turned and walked to the door of the boarding house. "Go, Arthur," you sighed, completely finished with the conversation.

You could hear his footsteps as he moved closer to you, you could practically feel his hand as he reached out to you and said your name. "...please... 's not what I meant and you know it," he pleaded.

But you wouldn't let him explain himself. 

This was what he wanted. You had been willing to try to make things work. To see what could come of this tragically short-lived _thing_ that the two of you had. But he was scared. You didn't blame him, but there was no way you would stand there and let him convince you it was wrong for you to hurt. "I know perfectly well what you meant," you hissed, not turning from the door. "You've dug yourself into my life, even if it's just been a few weeks, and it's getting to be too much for you. I understand." You push open the door and begin to step inside before you pause, to turn back to him one last time. "So, go, Arthur. Leave now, because if you stay and do it later it'll only hurt more."

His hat was back on his head, shielding his eyes from your vision. With a mumbled, "'m real sorry," he turned and walked off the porch, into the morning light.

You slammed the door closed, the sound echoing through the small hallway with a bang that certainly would have woken Ben if he hadn't already been at the top of the stairs. With a sob, you leaned back against the door and crumpled to the floor.

You didn't want Ben to see you like this. You were the adult, you were his mother. You were supposed to be strong. He had seen you upset once already this week and the look in his eyes had nearly killed you. You didn't want to do that to him again.

But it was too late. The tears were flowing and there was no stopping them now. 

You sobbed, crying for your husband, crying for your fatherless son, crying for a love that simply wasn't meant to be. You had spent so long avoiding your feelings, pushing them down and pretending they weren't there, only to have the dam crack over the course of just a few weeks. Now that crack had widened, and your tears rushed out in a flood of distressed sobs.

Until you felt a single, small hand on your shoulder.

Looking up, you saw the shining, watery eyes of your son. Your wonderful, perfect son. "Are you all right, Mama?" he asked timidly, moving his hand to stroke your hair like you had done for him so many times. "It's gonna be alright, Mama." 

He knelt down and wrapped his tiny arms around you, leaning his head on your shoulder. "Everything will be alright, Mama."

Deep breaths brought your sobs to a stop as you reached around the boy, wrapping him in your embrace. Ben was right. Everything would be fine. 

The only person you needed was right there in your arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry.
> 
> Also, I have an idea for the sequel, and will start working on it when work calms down in mid-October.


End file.
